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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


Ex  Libris 

;  c. 

K.  OGDEN 

MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

THE  GAY-DOMBEYS 


WITH    A    PREFACE    BY     H.    G.    WELLS 

"  There  are  scenes  in  '  The  Gay-Dombeys  '  bet- 
ter of  their  kind  than  anything  in  '  Dombey  and 
Son.'  .  .  .  He  has  invented  a  new  form." — 
Westminster  Gazette. 

"A.  genuine  panorama  of  our  own  times,  seen 
from  the  inside,  and  portrayed  with  admirable 
wit,  incisiveness,  and  vigour.  Most  readers  of 
discernment  will  agree  that  '  The  Gay-Dombeys  '  is 
one  of  the  best  first  novels  they  have  ever  read." 
—  Daily   Telegraph. 

"  An  extraordinarily  amusing  and  readable 
book." — New  Statesman. 

"  This  lovely  treat." —  Daily  News. 

"  The  book  conquers  us.  Sir  Harry  Johnston 
can  write;  he  is  alive,  and  racy,  and  keeps  us 
listening  eagerly  from  the  first  page  to  the  last. 
It   is    never    dull." —  Manchester   Guardian. 

"  This    amusing,    racy,  witty    picture." —  Truth. 

"  The  whole  book  is  alive,  and  very  good  read- 
ing."—  Outlook. 

"  A  very  fascinating  autobiographical  novel." — 
Sphere. 

"  A  picture  of  England  in  transition,  brilliantly 
and   picturesquely   done." —  Spectator. 

"  A  profusion  of  truth,  humanity,  pathos,  and 
humour." —  Birmingham  Post. 

Fifth  Impression,   Cr.   8vo,   ys.   net. 


MRS.    WARREN'S 
'^  DAUGHTER 

A  Story. of  the  Woman's  Movement 


BY 

SIR  HARRY  JOHNSTON 


il5eto  gotk 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1920 

All  rights  reserved 


19^ 


Copyright,  1920, 

bt  the  macmillan  company 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  May,  1920. 


\* 


V 


^ 

^ 


TO 
MY  JURY  OF  MATRONS : 

WINIFRED  JOHNSTON  ELLA  HEPWORTH-DIXON 

CATHERINE  WELLS  ANGFXA  MOND 

BEATRICE  SANDS  MARGARET   POWYS 

ANNETTE    HENDERSON  FLORENCE  FELLOWES 

MARY  LEVY  RAY  ROCKMAN-BRAHAM 

FLORENCE  TRAVERS  MAUD  PARRY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED, 

IN  THE  KNOWLEDGE  THAT  —  IN  THE  MAIN  —  IT  HAS 

THEIR  SYMPATHY  AND  APPROVAL. 

H.  H.  Johnston 

POLING, 

March,  1920 


PREFACE 

THE  earlier  part  of  Vivien  Warren's  life  and  that 
of  her  mother,  Catherine  Warren,  was  told  by  Mr. 
George  Bernard  Shaw  in  his  play,  "  Mrs,  Warren's  Pro- 
fession," published  first  in  1898. 

(Plays    Pleasant     and     Unpleasant:     i.  Unpleasant. 
Constable  and  Co.,  6th  Edition.) 

I  have  his  permission  to  continue  the  story  from  1898 
onwards.  To  understand  my  sequel  it  is  not  necessary 
to  have  read  the  play  which  so  brilliantly  placed  the 
Warren  problem  before  us.  But  as  most  persons  of 
average  good  education  have  found  Mr.  Shaw's  com- 
edies necessary  to  their  mental  furnishing,  their  under- 
standing of  contemporary  life,  it  is  probable  that  all  who 
would  be  drawn  to  this  book  are  already  acquainted  with 
the  story  of  Mrs.  Warren,  and  will  be  interested  in  learn- 
ing what  happened  after  that  story  was  laid  down  by  Mr. 
Shaw  in  1897.  I  would  in  addition  placate  hostile  or 
peevish  reviewers  by  reminding  them  of  the  continuity  of 
human  histories ;  of  biographies,  real  —  though  a  little 
disguised  by  the  sauce  of  fiction  —  and  unreal  —  because 
entitled  Life  and  Letters,  by  His  Widoiv.  The  best  novel 
or  life-story  ever  written  does  not  commence  with  its 
opening  page.  The  real  commencement  goes  back  to  the 
Stone  ages  or  at  any  rate  to  the  antecedent  circumstances 
which  led  up  to  the  crisis  or  the  formation  of  the  char- 
acters portrayed.  Mr.  Pickwick  had  a  father,  a  grand- 
father ;  a  mother  in  a  mob-cap ;  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
It  is  permissible  to  speculate  on  their  stories  and  disposi- 
tions. Neither  does  a  novel  or  a  biography  end  with  the 
final  page  of  its  convenient  instalment. 

When  you  lay  down   the  book  which   describes  the 


PREFACE 

pathetic  failure  of  Lord  Randolph  Churchill,  you  do  so 
with  curiosity  as  to  what  will  become  of  Winston.  With 
a  pre-knowledge  of  the  Pickwick  Club,  one  may  usefully 
employ  the  imagination  in  tracing  out  the  possible  careers 
of  Sam  Weller's  chubby  little  boys;  grown  into  old  men, 
and  themselves,  perchance,  leaving  progeny  that  may  have 
married  into  the  peerage  from  the  Turf,  or  have  entered 
the  War  Cabinet  at  the  beckoning  of  Mr.  Lloyd  George. 

I  know  of  descendants  of  Madame  de  Brinvilliers  in 
England  who  have  helped  to  found  the  Y.W.C.A. ;  and 
collateral  offshoots  from  the  Charlotte  Corday  stock  who 
are  sternly  opposed  to  the  assassination  of  statesmen- 
journalists. 

So,  I  have  taken  on  myself  the  continuation  of  the  story 
outlined  twenty-three  years  ago  by  Mr.  Shaw  in  its  late 
Victorian  stage.  He  had  a  prior  claim  to  do  so;  just  as 
he  might  have  shown  us  the  life  —  but  not  the  letters,  for 
she  was  illiterate  —  of  Catherine  Warren's  mother,  the 
frier  of  fish  and  letter  of  lodgings  on  Tower  Hill  in  the 
'forties  and  'fifties  of  the  last  century;  and  of  the  young 
Lieutenant  Warren  of  the  Tower  garrison  who  lodged 
and  cohabited  with  her  at  intervals  between  1850  and 
1854,  when  he  went  out  to  the  Crimea  and  there  died  of 
frost-bite  and  neglected  wounds.  Mr.  Shaw  has  waived 
such  claims,  having,  as  Vivie's  grandmother  would  have 
said,  "  other  fish  to  fry."  But  for  this  I  should  not  have 
ventured  to  take  up  the  tale,  as  I  hold  an  author  while  he 
lives  has  a  prescriptive  right  to  his  creations.  I  shall  feel 
no  bitterness  in  Nirvana  if,  after  my  death,  another  con- 
tinues the  story  of  Vivie  or  of  her  friends  and  collateral 
relations,  under  circumstances  which  I  shall  not  live  to  see. 

In  justice  to  Mr.  Shaw  I  should  state  that  the  present 
book  is  entirely  my  own,  and  that  though  he  has  not  re- 
nounced a  polite  interest  in  Vivie  he  is  in  no  way  respon- 
sible for  her  career  and  behaviour.  He  may  even  be 
annoyed  at  both.  H    H    Johxnston. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface  by  the  Author vii 

I      ViVIE  AND  NORIE I 

II      HONORIA  AND  HeR   FrIENDS l8 

III    David  Vavasour  Williams 27 

IV      PONTYSTRAD 46 

V    Reading  for  tpie  Bar 63 

VI     The  Rossiters 79 

VII     Honoria  Again 95 

VIII     The  British  Church 104 

IX     David  IS  Called  TO  the  Bar 119 

X     The  Shillito  Case 137 

XI    David  Goes  Abroad i6i 

XII     ViviE  Returns I77 

XIII  The  Suffrage  Movement 190 

XIV  Militancy 214 

XV     Imprisonment 248 

XVI  Brussels  and  THE  War  :  1914       ....  277 

XVII  The  Germans  in  Brussels:  1915-1916  .      .  303 

XVIII  The  Bomb  in  Portland  Place      .      .     .      .331 

XIX     Bertie  Adams 35 1 

XX     After  the  Armistice 375 

L'Envoi 390 


MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 


CHAPTER  I 

VIVIE   AND    NORIE 

THE  date  when  this  story  begins  is  a  Saturday  after- 
noon in  June,  1900,  about  3  p.m.  The  scene  is  the 
western  room  of  a  suite  of  offices  on  the  fifth  floor  of  a 
house  in  Chancery  Lane,  the  offices  of  Fraser  and  Warren, 
Consultant  Actuaries  and  Accountants.  There  is  a  long 
window  facing  west,  the  central  part  of  which  is  open, 
affording  a  passage  out  on  to  a  parapet.  Through  this 
window,  and  still  better  from  the  parapet  outside,  may  be 
seen  the  picturesque  spires  and  turrets  of  the  Law  Courts, 
a  glimpse  here  and  there  of  the  mellow,  red-brick,  white- 
windowed  houses  of  New  Square,  the  tree-tops  of  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields,  and  the  hint  beyond  a  steepled  and 
chimneyed  horizon  of  the  wooded  heights  of  Highgate. 
All  this  outlook  is  flooded  with  the  brilliant  sunshine  of 
June,  scarcely  dimmed  by  the  city  smoke  and  fumes. 

In  the  room  itself  there  are  on  each  of  the  tables  vases 
of  flowers  and  a  bunch  of  dark  red  roses  on  the  top  of  the 
many  pigeon-holed  bureau  at  which  Vivien  Warren  is 
seated.  The  walls  are  mainly  covered  with  book-shelves 
well  filled  with  consultative  works  on  many  diverse  sub- 
jects. There  is  another  series  of  shelves  crowded  with 
neat,  green,  tin  boxes  containing  the  papers  of  clients.  A 
dark  green-and-purple  portiere  partly  conceals  the  entry 
into  a  washing  place  which  is  further  fitted  with  a  gas 
stove  for  cooking  and  cupboards  for  crockery  and  provi- 


2  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

sions.  At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room  is  a  door  which 
opens  into  a  small  bedroom.  The  fireplace  in  the  main 
room  is  fitted  with  the  best  and  least  smelly  kind  of  gas 
stove  obtainable  in  1900. 

There  are  two  scjuare  tables  covered  with  piles  of  docu- 
ments neatly  tied  with  green  tape  and  ranged  round  the 
central  vase  of  flowers ;  a  heavy,  squat  earthenware  vase 
not  easily  knocked  over;  and  there  is  a  second  bureau 
with  pigeon-holes  and  a  roll  top,  similar  to  the  one  at 
which  Vivien  Warren  is  seated.  This  is  for  the  senior 
partner,  Honoria  Eraser.  Between  the  bureaus  there  is 
plenty  of  space  for  access  to  the  long  west  window  and 
consequently  to  the  parapet  which  can  be  used  like  a  bal- 
cony. Two  small  arm-chairs  in  green  leather  on  either 
side  of  the  fireplace,  two  office  chairs  at  the  tables'  and  a 
revolving  chair  at  each  bureau  complete  the  furniture  of 
the  partners'  room  of  Frascr  and  Warren  as  you  would 
have  seen  it  twenty  years  ago. 

The  rest  of  their  offices  consisted  of  a  landing  from 
which  a  lift  and  a  staircase  descended,  a  waiting-room 
for  clients,  pleasantly  furnished,  a  room  in  which  two 
female  clerks  worked,  and  off  this  a  small  room  tenanted 
by  an  office  boy.  You  may  also  add  in  imagination  an 
excellent  lavatory  for  the  clerks,  two  telephones  (one  in 
the  partners'  room),  hidden  safes,  wall-maps;  and  you 
must  visualize  ever}rthing  as  pleasing  in  colour  —  green, 
white,  and  purple  —  flooded  with  light ;  clean,  tidy,  and 
admirably  adapted  for  business  in  the  City. 

Vivien  Warren,  as  already  mentioned,  was,  as  the  cur- 
tain goes  up,  seated  at  her  bureau,  reading  a  letter.  The 
letter  was  headed  "  Camp  Hospital,  Colesberg,  Cape 
Colony,  May  2,  1900  "  ;  and  ran  thus :  — 

Dearest  Vivie, — 

Here  I  am  still,  but  my  leg  is  mending  fast.     The 
enteric  was  the  worse  trouble.     That  is  over  and  done 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  3 

with,  though  I  am  the  colour  of  a  pig-skin  saddle.  IMy 
leg  won't  let  me  frisk  just  yet,  but  otherwise  I  feel  as 
strong  as  a  horse. 

When  I  was  bowled  over  three  months  ago  and  the 
enteric  got  hold  of  me,  on  top  of  the  bullet  through  my 
thigh,  I  lost  my  self-control  and  asked  the  people  here  to 
cable  to  you  to  come  and  nurse  me.  It  was  silly  perhaps 
—  the  nursing  here  is  quite  efficient  —  and  if  any  one 
was  to  have  come  out  on  my  account  it  ought  to  have  been 
the  poor  old  mater,  who  wanted  to  very  much.  But 
somehow  I  could  only  think  of  you.  I  wanted  you  more 
than  I'd  ever  done  before.  I  hoped  somehow  your  heart 
might  be  touched  and  you  might  come  out  and  nurse  me, 
and  then  out  of  pity  marry  me.  Won't  you  do  so? 
Owing  to  my  stiff  leg  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  invalided  out 
of  the  Army  and  get  a  small  wound  pension.  And  I've 
a  project  which  will  make  lots  of  money  —  up  in 
Rhodesia  —  a  tip  I've  had  from  a  man  in  the  know.  I'm 
going  to  take  up  some  land  near  Salisbury^  Ripping 
country  and  climate  and  all  that.  It  would  suit  you  down 
to  the  ground.  You  could  put  all  that  Warren  business 
behind  you,  forget  it  all,  drop  the  name,  start  a  new  career 
as  Mrs.  Frank  Gardner,  and  find  an  eternally  devoted 
husband  in  the  man  that  signs  this  letter. 

I've  been  out  here  long  enough  to  be  up  to  all  the 
ropes,  and  I'd  already  made  a  bit  of  money  in  Rhodesia 
before  the  war  broke  out  and  I  got  a  commission.  At 
any  rate  I've  enough  to  start  on  as  a  married  man,  enough 
to  give  you  a  decent  outfit  and  your  passage  out  here  and 
have  a  honeymoon  before  we  start  work  on  our  future 
home.  Darling  Vivie!  Do  think  about  it.  You'd 
never  regret  it.  I'm  a  very  different  Frank  to  the  silly 
ass  you  knew  in  the  old  Haslemere  days.  Now  here's  a 
five  pound  note  to  cover  the  cost  of  a  full  cable  to  say 
"  yes,"  and  when  you'll  be  ready  to  start.  When  I  get 
your  answer  —  somehow  I  feel  it'll  be  "  yes  " —  I'll  send 


4  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

you  a  draft  on  a  London  bank  to  pay  for  a  suitable  trous- 
seau and  your  passage  from  London  to  Cape  Town,  and 
of  course  Til  come  and  meet  you  there,  where  we  can  be 
married.     I  shan't  sleep  properly  till  I  get  your  "  yes." 

Your  ever  loving  and  always  faithful 

Frank. 

P.S.  There's  a  poor  fellow  here  in  the  same  ward 
dying  —  I  should  say  —  of  necrosis  of  the  jaw  —  Vava- 
sour Williams  is  his  name  or  a  part  of  his  name.  His 
father  was  at  Cambridge  with  my  old  man,  and  —  isn't  it 
rum?  —  he  was  a  pupil  of  Praddy'sU  He  mucked  his 
school  and  'varsity  career,  thought  next  he'd  like  to  be  an 
architect  or  a  scene  painter.  My  dad  recommended 
Praddy  as  a  master.  He  worked  in  the  Praed  studio,  but 
got  the  chuck  over  some  foolery.  Then  as  he  couldn't 
face  his  poor  old  Governor,  he  enlisted  in  the  Bechuana- 
land  Border  police,  came  out  to  South  Africa  and  got  let 
in  for  this  show.  The  doctors  and  nurses  give  him  about 
a  month  and  he  doesn't  know  it.  He  can't  talk  much 
owing  to  his  jaw  being  tied  up  —  usually  he  writes  me 
messages,  all  about  going  home  and  being  a  good  boy, 
turning  over  a  new  leaf,  and  so  on.  I  suppose  the  last 
person  you  ever  see  nowadays  is  the  Revd.  Sam  Gardner  ? 
You  know  they  howked  him  out  of  Woodcote?  He  got 
"  preferment  "  as  he  calls  it,  and  a  cure  of  souls  at  Mar- 
gate. Rather  rough  on  the  dear  old  mater  —  bless  her, 
ahvays  —  She  so  liked  the  Hindhead  country.  But  if  you 
run  up  against  Praddy  you  might  let  him  know  and  he 
might  get  into  touch  with  Vavasour  Williams's  people  — 
twig?  —  E.G. 

Vivie  rose  to  her  feet  half-way  through  this  letter  and 
finished  it  standing  by  the  window. 

She  was  tall  —  say,  five  feet  eight ;  about  twenty-five 
years  of  age;  with  a  well-developed,  athletic  figure,  set 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  5 

ofif  by  a  smart,  tailor-made  gown  of  grey  cloth.  Yet 
although  she  might  be  called  a  handsome  woman  she 
would  easily  have  passed  for  a  good-looking  young  man 
of  twenty,  had  she  been  wearing  male  costume. 

Her  brown-gold  hair  was  disposed  of  with  the  least 
ostentation  possible  and  with  no  fluffiness.  Her  eyebrows 
were  too  well  furnished  for  femininity  and  nearly  met 
when  she  frowned  —  a  too  frequent  practice,  as  was  the 
belligerent  look  from  her  steely  grey  eyes  with  their 
beautiful  Irish  setting  of  long  dark  lashes.  She  had  a 
straight  nose  and  firm  rounded  chin,  a  rather  determined 
look  about  the  mouth  —  lower  lip  too  much  drawn  in  as  if 
from  perpetual  self-repression.  But  all  this  severity  dis- 
appeared when  she  smiled  and  showed  her  faultless  teeth. 
The  complexion  was  clear  though  a  little  tanned  from 
deliberate  exposure  in  athletics.  Altogether  a  woman 
that  might  have  been  described  as  "  jolly  good-looking,"  if 
it  had  not  been  that  whenever  any  man  looked  at  her 
something  hostile  and  forbidding  came  into  the  counte- 
nance, and  the  eyebrows  formed  an  angry  bar  of  hazel- 
brown  above  the  dark-lashed  eyes.  But  her  "  young 
man  "  look  won  for  her  many  a  feminine  friendship  which 
she  impatiently  repelled ;  for  sentimentality  disgusted  her. 

The  door  of  the  partners'  room  opened  and  in  walked 
Honoria  Fraser.  She  was  probably  three  years  older 
than  Vivie  and  likewise  a  well-favoured  woman,  a  little 
more  matronly  in  appearance,  somewhat  after  the  style 
of  a  married  actress  who  really  loves  her  husband  and 
has  preserved  her  own  looks  wonderfully,  though  no  one 
would  take  her  for  less  than  twenty-eight. 

At  the  sight  of  her,  Vivie  lost  her  frown  and  tossed  the 
letter  on  to  the  bureau. 

Honoria  Fraser  had  been  lunching  with  friends  in 
Portland  Place. 

Honoria:  "What  a  swotter  you  are!  I  thought  I 
should  find  you  here.     I  suppose  the  staff  departed  punc- 


6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

tually  at  One?  I've  come  back  expressly  from  the 
Michael  Rossiters  to  carry  you  off  to  them  —  or  rather  to 
Kew.  They're  going  to  have  tea  with  the  Thiselton- 
Dyers  and  then  revel  in  azaleas  and  roses.  I  shall  go  out 
and  charter  a  hansom  and  we'll  drive  down  .  ,  .  it'll  be 
some  compensation  for  your  having  worked  extra  hard 
whilst  I've  been  away.  .  .  . 

"  I  met  such  a  delightful  man  at  the  Rossiters' !  " 
(slightly  flushing)  "Don't  look  at  me  so  reproachfully! 
There  are  delightful  men  —  a  few  —  in  existence.  This 
one  has  been  wounded  in  South  Africa  and  he's  so  good- 
looking,  though  the  back  of  his  head  is  scarred  and  he'll 
always  walk  with  a  limp.  .  .  .  Now  then !  Why  do  you 
look  so  solemn  ?     Put  on  your  hat.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  I  look  solemn  because  I'm  just  considering  a 
proposal  of  marriage  —  or  rather,  the  fewest  words  in 
which  I  can  refuse  it.  I  don't  think  I  want  to  go  to  Kew 
at  all  .  .  .  much  sooner  we  had  tea  together,  here,  on 
the  roof.  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "  I  suppose  it's  Frank  Gardner  again,  as  I  see 
his  handwriting  on  that  envelope.  Well  I'm  sorry  about 
Kew  —  I  should  have  enjoyed  it.  ,  .  ." 

Vivie  (bitterly)  :  "  I  expect  it's  that  *  delightful  man  ' 
that  attracts  you." 

Norie:  "Nonsense!  I'm  vowed  to  virginity,  like  you 
are  ...  I  really  don't  care  if  I  never  see  Major  Arm- 
strong again  .  .  .  though  he  certainly  is  rather  a  darling 
.  .  .  very  good-looking  .  .  .  and,  d'you  know,  he's  al- 
most a  Pro-Boer,  though  the  Boers  ambushed  him.  .  ,  . 
Says  this  war's  a  beastly  mistake.  .  .  . 

"  Well :  I'll  have  tea  here  instead,  if  you  like,  and  we 
can  talk  business,  which  we  haven't  done  for  a  fortnight. 
I  must  get  out  of  the  way  of  paying  visits  in  the  country. 
They  make  one  so  discontented  with  the  City  afterwards. 
I've  had  a  feeling  lately  I  should  like  to  have  been  a 
farmer  .  .  .  Too  much  of  the  work  of  the  firm  has  been 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  7 

thrown  on  you.  .  .  .  But  there's  lots  and  lots  I  want  to 
talk  over.  I  abandon  Kew,  willingly,  and  as  to  Major 
Armstrong.  ,  .  .  However  he  can  always  find  my  address 
if  he  cares  to  .  .  ." 

Vizne  (sits  down  in  one  of  the  arm  chairs  and  Norie 
takes  the  other)  :  "  Oh  don't  pity  me.  I  love  hard  work 
and  work  which  interests  me.  And  as  to  working  for 
yoii,  you  know  there's  nothing  I  wouldn't  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "Oh  stow  that!  .  .  .  You've  been  a  full- 
fledged  partner  for  a  year  and  ought  to  be  getting  callous 
or  suspicious  ...  I  did  take  some  money  out  of  the 
petty  cash  yesterday.  I  must  remember  to  put  it  down. 
I  took  quite  a  lot  .  .  .  for  theatre  tickets  .  .  .  and  you 
may  be  suspecting  Bertie  Adams  .  .  .  we  can't  call  this 
an  Adamless  Eden,  can  we?  I  wonder  why  we  keep  an 
office  boy  and  not  an  office  girl?  I  suppose  such  things 
w'ill  soon  be  coming  into  being.  We've  women  clerks  and 
typewriteresses  .  .  .  Adams,  I  notice,  is  growing,  and  he 
has  the  trace  of  a  moustache  and  is  already  devoted  to 
you  .  ,  .  dog-like.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  He's  still  more  devoted  to  cricket,  fortunately ; 
and  as  soon  as  Rose  and  Lilian  had  gone  he  was  off  too. 
,  .  .  Only,  I  fancy,  he  discards  Regent's  Park  now  in 
favour  of  Hendon  or  Heme  Hill  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "  Now,  about  Frank  Gardner.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  Yes,  that  cablegram.  .  .  .  Let's  frame  it  and 
send  it  off  as  soon  as  we  can ;  then  get  tea  ready.  Talk- 
ing of  tea  :  I  was  just  thinking  before  Frank's  letter  came 
how  much  good  you'd  done  me  —  in  many  other  ways 
than  setting  me  up  in  business." 

Norie:  "Shut  up!  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  How,  when  we  first  worked  together,  I  used  to 
think  it  necessary  to  imitate  men  by  drinking  an  occasional 
whiskey  and  soda  —  though  I  loathe  spirits  —  and  smok- 
ing a  cigar  —  ugh !  —  And  how  you  drew  me  back  to  tea 
and  a  self-respecting  womanliness  —  China  tea,  of  course, 


8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

and  cigarettes.  Why  should  we  have  wanted  to  be  like 
men?  .  .  .  much  better  to  be  the  New  Woman.  .  .  . 

"  As  to  Frank's  cablegram.  .  .  ."  ( Goes  to  bureau,  tries 
over  several  drafts  of  message,  consults  Postal  Guide  as 
to  cable  rates  per  worll,  and  reads  aloud)  ..."  How's 
this  ?  '  Captain  Frank  Gardner  Camp  Hospital  Colesberg 
Cape  Colony.  Sorry  must  say  no  Best  wishes  recovery 
writing.  Vivie.'  That'll  cost  just  Two  pounds  and  out 
of  the  balance  I  shall  buy  a  good  parcel  of  books  to  send 
him,  and  some  strawberries  and  cakes  for  our  tea." 
(Therewith  she  puts  on  hat  carefully —  for  she  is  always 
very  particular,  in  a  young-gentlemanly  way,  about  her 
appearance  —  goes  out  to  send  off  cablegram  from  Chan- 
cery Lane  post-office,  buy  strawberries  and  cakes  from 
Fleet  Street  shops,  and  so  back  to  the  office  by  four 
o'clock.  Meantime  Norie  is  reading  through  some  of  the 
recent  correspondence  on  the  file.) 

Vivie  (on  her  return)  :  "  Pouf !  It  was  hot  in  Fleet 
Street !  Fm  sorry  for  poor  Frankie,  because  he  seems 
so  to  have  set  his  heart  on  marrying  me.  But  I  do  hope 
he  will  take  this  answer  as  final/' 

Norie:  "  I  suppose  you  are  not  refusing  him  for  the 
same  old  reason  —  that  vague  suggestion  that  he  might 
be  your  half-brother?  " 

Vivie:  "Oh  no!  Besides  I  pretty  well  know  for  a 
fact  he  isn't,  he  simply  couldn't  be.  Fm  absolutely  sure 
my  father  wasn't  Sam  Gardner,  any  more  than  George 
Crofts  was.  I  believe  it  was  a  young  Irish  seminarist, 
some  student  for  the  priesthood  whom  my  mother  met 
in  Belgium  the  year  before  I  was  born.  If  I  ever  find 
out  more  I  will  tell  you.  You  haven't  seen  '  Soapy  Sam,' 
the  Vicar  of  Woodcote,  or  that  beast,  George  Crofts;  but 
if  you  had,  you'd  be  as  sure  as  I  am  that  neither  of  them 
was  my  father  —  thank  goodness  !  As  to  Frank  —  yes 
—  for  a  short  time  I  zvas  fond  of  him  —  till  I  learnt  about 
my  mother's  '  profession.'     It  was  rather  a  silly  sort  of 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  9 

fondness.  He  was  two  years  younger  than  I;  I  suppose 
my  feeling  for  him  was  half  motherly  ...  I  neither 
encouraged  him  nor  did  I  repel  him.  I  think  I  was 
experimenting  ...  I  rather  wanted  to  know  what  it 
felt  like  to  be  kissed  by  a  man.  Frank  was  a  nice  crea- 
ture, so  far  as  a  man  can  be.  But  all  those  horrid  rev- 
elations that  broke  up  our  summer  stay  at  Haslemere 
four  years  ago  —  when  I  ran  away  to  you  —  gave  me  an 
utter  disgust  for  marriage.  And  what  a  life  mine  would 
have  been  if  I  had  married  him  then ;  or  after  he  went  out 
to  South  Africa !  Ghastly!  Want  of  money  would  have 
made  us  hate  one  another  and  Frank  would  have  been 
sure  to  become  patronizing.  Because  I  was  without  a 
father  in  the  legitimate  way  he  would  have  thought  he  was 
conferring  a  great  honour  on  me  by  marrying  me,  and 
would  probably  have  expected  me  to  drudge  for  him  while 
he  idled  his  time  away.  .  .  .  Oh,  when  I  thinly  what  a 
life  I  have  led  here,  with  you,  full  of  interesting  work 
and  bright  prospects,  free  from  money  anxieties  — 
dearest,  dearest  Norie  —  I  can't  thank  you  enough.  No, 
Fm  not  going  to  be  sentimental  —  the  New  Woman  is 
never  that.  Fm  going  to  get  the  tea  ready;  and  after 
we've  had  tea  on  the  balcony  we  really  must  go  into  busi- 
ness matters.  Your  being  away  so  much  the  last  fort- 
night, things  have  accumulated  that  I  did  not  like  to  decide 
for  myself.  .  .  ." 

Norie  (speaking  rather  louder  as  Vivie  is  now  busy 
in  the  adjoining  roomlet,  boiling  the  kettle  on  the  gas 
stove  and  preparing  the  tea)  :  "  Yes.  And  Fve  got  lots 
to  talk  over  with  you.  All  sorts  of  plans  have  come  into 
my  head.  I  don't  know  whether  I  have  been  eating  any- 
thing more  than  usually  brain  stimulating  —  everything 
has  a  physical  basis  —  but  I  have  come  back  from  this 
scattered  holiday  full  of  new  ideas." 

Presently  they  are  seated  on  camp-stools  sipping  tea, 
eating  strawberries  and  cakes,  under  the  striped  sun-blind. 


lo  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Norie  continues :  "  Do  you  remember  Beryl  Clarges  at 
Nevvnham?  " 

Vivie:  "  Yes  —  the  pretty  girl  —  short,  curly  hair, 
brown  eyes,  rather  full  lips,  good  at  mathematics  — 
hockey.  .  .  .  purposely  shocked  you  by  her  outspoken- 
ness —  well?  " 

Norie:  "  Well,  she's  had  a  baby  ...  a  month  ago 
.  .  .  awful  rumpus  with  her  people  .  .  .  Father's  Dean 
Clarges  .  .  .  Norwich  or  Ely,  I  forget  which  .  .  , 
They've  put  her  in  a  Nursing  Home  in  Seymour  Street. 
Mother  wears  a  lace  mantilla  and  cries  softly.  Beryl 
went  wrong,  as  they  call  it,  with  an  architect." 

Vime:  "  Pass  your  cup  .  .  .  Don't  take  all  the  straw- 
berries (Norie:  "Sorry!  Absence  of  mind  —  I've  left 
you  three  fat  ones")  Architect?  Strange!  I  always 
thought  all  architects  were  like  Praddy  —  had  no  passions 
except  for  bricks  and  mortar  and  chiselled  stone  and 
twirligig  iron  grilles  .  .  .  perhaps  just  a  thrill  over  a 
nude  statue.  Why,  till  you  told  me  this  Pd  as  soon  have 
trusted  my  daughter  —  if  I  had  one  —  with  an  architect 
as  with  a  Colonel  of  Engineers  —  You  know  !  The  kind 
that  believes  in  the  identity  of  the  Ten  Lost  Tribes  with 
the  British  and  is  a  True  Protestant !  Poor  Beryl !  But 
how  ?  what  ?  when  ?  why  ?  " 

Norie:  "  I  think  it  began  at  Cambridge  —  the  acquaint- 
ance did  .  .  .  Later,  it  developed  into  a  passion.  He 
had  already  one  wife  in  Sussex  somewhere  and  four  chil- 
dren. He  took  a  flat  for  her  in  Town  —  a  studio  —  be- 
cause Berry  had  given  up  mathematics  and  was  going  in 
for  sculpture;  and  there,  whenever  he  could  get  away 
from  Storrington  or  some  such  place  and  from  his  City 
office,  he  used  to  visit  Beryl.  This  had  been  going  on  for 
three  years.  But  last  February  she  had  to  break  it  to 
her  mother  that  she  was  six  months  gone.  The  other 
wife  knows  all  about  it  but  refuses  to  divorce  the  naughty 
architect,  and  at  the  same  time  has  cut  off  supplies  — 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  ii 

What  cowards  men  are  and  how  little  women  stand  by 
women !  And  then  it's  a  poor  deanery  and  Beryl  has  five 
younger  brothers  that  have  got  to  be  educated.  Her 
sculpture  was  little  more  than  commissions  executed  for 
her  architect's  building  and  I  expect  that  resource  will  now 
disappear  ...  I  half  think  I  shall  bring  her  in  here,  when 
she  is  well  again.  She's  got  a  very  good  head-piece  and 
you  know  we  are  expanding  our  business  .  .  .  She'd 
make  a  good  House  Agent  .  .  .  She  writes  sometimes  for 
Country  Life.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  Ye-es.  .  .  .  But  you  can't  provide  for  many 
more  of  our  college-mates.     Any  more  gone  wrong?" 

Norie:  "  It  depends  how  you  qualify  '  wrong.'  I 
really  don't  see  that  it  is  *  wronger '  for  a  young  woman 
to  yield  to  '  storge  '  and  have  a  baby  out  of  wedlock  than 
for  a  man  to  engender  that  baby.  Society  doesn't  damn 
the  man,  unless  he  is  a  Cabinet  Minister  or  a  Cleric;  but  it 
does  its  best  to  ruin  the  woman  .  .  .  unless  she's  an 
actress  or  a  singer.  Ha  woman  likes  to  go  through  all 
the  misery  of  pregnancy  and  the  pangs  of  delivery  on  her 
own  account  and  without  being  legally  tied  up  with  a  man, 
why  can't  she?  Ber}^,  at  any  rate,  is  quite  unashamed, 
and  says  she  shall  have  as  many  children  as  her  earnings 
support  .  .  .  that  it  will  be  great  fun  choosing  their  sires 
—  more  variety  in  their  types.  ...  Is  she  the  New 
Woman,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Vivie:  "  Well  the  whole  thing  bores  me  .  .  .  I  suppose 
I  am  embittered  and  disgusted.  I'm  sick  of  all  this  sexual 
nonsense.  .  .  .  Yes,  after  all,  I  approve  of  the  marriage 
tie:  it  takes  away  the  romance  of  love,  and  it's  that  ro- 
mance which  is  usually  so  time-wasting  and  so  dangerous. 
It  conceals  often  a  host  of  horrors  .  .  .  But  I'm  a  sort 
of  neuter.  All  I  want  in  life  is  hard  work  ...  a  cause 
to  fight  for.  .  .  .  Revenge  .  .  .  revenge  on  Man.  God ! 
How  I  hate  men ;  how  I  despise  them !  We  can  do  any- 
thing they  can  if  we  train  and  educate.     I  have  taken  to 


12  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

your  business  because  it  is  one  of  the  crafty  paths  we  can 
follow  to  creep  into  Man's  fastnesses  of  the  Law,  the 
Stock-Market,  the  Banks  and  Actuarial  work.  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "My  dear!  You  have  quite  a  platform  manner 
already.  I  predict  you  will  soon  be  addressing  audiences 
of  rebellious  women.  .  .  .  But  I  am  more  the  Booker 
Washington  of  my  sex.  I  want  women  to  work  —  even 
at  quite  humble  things  —  before  they  insist  on  equal  rights 
with  man.  At  any  rate  I  want  to  help  them  to  make  an 
honest  livelihood  without  depending  on  some  one  man. 
.  .  .  Business  seems  to  be  good,  eh?  If  the  first  half  of 
this  year  is  equalled  by  the  second,  I  should  think  there 
would  be  a  profit  to  be  divided  of  quite  a  thousand 
pounds  ?  " 

Vivie:  "  Quite.  Of  course  we  are  regular  pirates. 
None  of  the  actuarial  or  accountancy  corporations  will 
admit  women,  so  we  can't  pass  exams  and  call  ourselves 
chartered  actuaries  or  incorporated  accountants.  But  if 
women  clients  choose  to  consult  us  there  is  no  law  to  pre- 
vent them,  or  to  make  our  giving  advice  illegal.  So  we 
advise  and  estimate  and  do  accounts  and  calculate  prob- 
abilities. Then  although  we  can't  call  ourselves  Solicitors 
we  can  —  or  at  any  rate  we  do  —  give  legal  advice.  We 
can't  figure  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  but  we  can  advise 
clients  about  their  investments  and  buy  and  sell  stock  and 
real  estate  (By  the  bye  I  want  you  to  give  me  your  opinion 
on  the  tithe  question,  the  liability  on  that  Kent  fruit 
farm).  We  are  consulted  on  contracts  .  .  .  I'm  going 
to  start  a  women  authors'  branch,  and  perhaps  a  tourist 
agency.  Some  day  we  will  have  a  women's  publishing 
business,  we'll  set  up  a  women's  printing  press,  a  paper 
mill.  ...  Of  course  as  you  know  I  am  working  hard  on 
law  .  .  .  not  only  to  understand  men's  roguery  in  every 
direction,  but  so  that  if  necessary  I  can  add  pleading  in 
the  courts  to  some  other  woman's  solicitor  work.  That's 
going  to  be  my  first  struggle  with  Man :  to  claim  admit- 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  13 

tance  to  the  Bar.  .  .  .  If  we  can  once  breach  that  ram- 
part the  Vote  must  inevitably  follow.  Oh  how  we  have 
been  dumb  before  our  shearers !  The  rottenness  of 
Man's  law.  .  .  .  The  perjury,  corruption,  waste  of  time, 
special  pleading  that  go  on  in  our  male  courts  of  mjustice, 
the  verdicts  of  male  juries !  " 

Norie:  "  Just  so.  But  can't  you  find  a  little  time  to 
be  social?  Why  be  so  morose?  For  instance,  why  not 
come  and  be  introduced  to  Michael  Rossiter?     He's  a 

dear  —  amazingly     clever  —  a     kind     of     prophet 

Your  one  confidant,  Stead,  thinks  a  lot  of  him." 

Vivie:  "  Dear  Norie  —  I  can't.  I  swore  two  years  ago 
I  would  drop  Society  and  run  no  risk  of  being  found  out 
as  '  Mrs.  Warren's  daughter.'  That  beast  George  Crofts 
revenged  himself  because  I  wouldn't  marry  him  by  letting 
it  be  known  here  and  there  that  I  zvas  the  daughter  of  the 
'  notorious  Mrs.  Warren ' ;  whereupon  several  of  the 
people  I  liked  —  you  remember  ?  —  dropped  me  —  the 
Burne-Joneses,  the  Lacrevys.  Or  if  it  wasn't  Crofts 
some  other  swine  did.  But  for  the  fact  that  it  would  up- 
set our  style  as  a  finn  I  could  change  my  name :  call  my- 
self something  quite  different.   .  .  . 

"  D'you  know,  I've  sometimes  thought  I'd  cut  my  hair 
short  and  dress  in  men's  clothes,  and  go  out  into  the  world 
as  a  man  .  .  .  my  voice  is  almost  a  tenor  —  Such  a  lark ! 
I'd  get  admitted  to  the  Bar.  But  the  nuisance  about  that 
would  be  the  references.  I'm  an  outlaw,  you  see,  through 
no  fault  of  mine.  ...  I  couldn't  give  you  as  a  reference, 
and  I  don't  know  any  man  who  would  be  generous  enough 
to  take  the  risk  of  participating  in  the  fraud.  .  .  .  unless 
it  were  Praed  —  good  old  Praddy.  I'm  sure  it's  been 
done  now  and  again.  They  call  Judge  FitzSimmons  '  an 
old  woman.'  Well,  d'you  know,  I  believe  he  is.  ...  a 
wise  old  woman." 

Norie:  "  Well :  bide  a  wee,  till  our  firm  is  doing  a  roar- 
ing business :  I  can  pretend  then  to  take  in  a  male  partner, 


14  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

p'raps.  Rose  and  Lilian  are  very  hard-working  and  we 
can't  afford  to  lose  them  yet.  If  you  appeared  one  morn- 
ing dressed  as  a  young  man  they  might  throw  up  their 
jobs  and  go  elsewhere.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  You  may  be  quite  sure  I  won't  let  yoii  down. 
Moreover  I  haven't  the  money  for  any  vagaries  yet, 
though  I  have  an  instinct  that  it  is  coming.  You  know 
those  Charles  Davis  shares  I  bought  at  5.9.  3^.?  Well, 
they  rose  to  2gs.  whilst  you  were  away;  so  I  sold  out. 
We  had  three  hundred,  and  that,  less  commissions,  made 
about  £350  profit ;  the  boldest  coup  we  have  had  yet.  And 
all  because  I  spotted  that  new  find  of  emery  powder  in 
Tripoli,  saw  it  in  a  Consular  Report.  ... 

"I  want  to  be  rich  and  therefore  powerful,  Norie! 
Then  people  will  forget  fast  enough  about  my  shameful 
parentage." 

Norie:  "  How  is  she?     Do  you  ever  hear  from  or  of 

her  now?  " 

Vivic:  "  I  haven't  heard  from  her  for  two  years,  since 
I  left  her  letters  unanswered.  But  I  hear  of  her  every 
now  and  again.  No.  Not  through  Crofts.  I  suppose 
you  know  —  if  you  take  any  interest  in  that  wretch-— 
that  since  he  married  the  American  quakeress  he  took  his 
name  off  the  Warren  Hotels  Company  and  sold  out  much 
of  his  interest.  He  is  now  living  in  great  respectability, 
breeding  race  horses.  They  even  say  he  has  given  up 
whiskey.  He  has  got  a  son  and  has  endowed  six  cots  in 
a  Children's  hospital.  No.  I  think  it  must  be  mother 
who  has  notices  posted  to  me,  probably  through  that 
scoundrel,  Bax  Strangeways  .  .  .  generally  in  the  Lon- 
don Argus  and  the  Vie-de-Paris  —  cracking  up  the  War- 
ren Hotels  in  Brussels,  Berlin,  Buda-Pest  and  Roque- 
brune.     What  a  comedy !  .  .  . 

"  There's  my  Aunt  Liz  at  Winchester  —  Mrs.  Canon 
Burstall  —  won't  know  me  —  Fm  too  compromising. 
But  I'm  sure  her  money-bags  have  been  filled  at  one  time 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  15 

—  perhaps  are  still  —  out  of  the  profits  on  mother's 
'Hotels.'  ..." 

Norie:  "  I  didn't  remember  your  aunt  was  married 
....  or  rather  I  suppose  I  did,  but  thought  she  was  a 
widow,  real  or  ^of-dwawf.  .  ." 

Vivic:  "  So  she  is,  after  four  years  of  happy  married 
life !  My  '  uncle  '  Canon  Burstall  —  Oh  what  a  scream- 
ing joke  the  whole  thing  is !  ...  I  doubt  if  he  was  aware 
he  had  a  niece.  .  .  .  Don't  you  remember  he  was  killed 
in  the  Alps  last  autumn  ?  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "  I  remember  your  going  down  to  see  your  aunt 
after  you  broke  off  relations  with  your  mother  in  —  in  — 
1897.  .  .  .?" 

Viz'ic:  "  Yes.  I  wanted  to  see  how  the  land  lay  and 
not  judge  any  one  unfairly.  Besides  I  —  I  —  didn't  like 
being  dependent  entirely  on  you  —  at  that  time  —  for  sup- 
port :  and  Praed  was  in  Italy.  I  knew  that  Aunt  Liz,  like 
mother,  was  illegitimate  —  and  guessed  she  had  once 
made  her  living  in  the  higher  walks  of  prostitution  —  she 

was  a  stockbroker's  mistress  at  one  time .     But  she 

had  married  and  settled  down  at  Winchester  .  .  .  She  met 
her  Canon  —  the  Alpine  traveller  ...  in  Switzerland. 
I  felt  if  she  took  no  money  from  mother's  '  houses,'  I 
could  perhaps  make  a  home  with  her,  or  at  any  rate  have 
some  kith  and  kin  to  go  to.  She  had  no  children.  .  .  . 
But  —  I  must  have  told  you  all  this  years  ago  ?  —  she  al- 
most pushed  me  out  of  her  house  for  fear  I  should  stay 
till  the  Canon  came  in  from  the  afternoon  service;  denied 
everything ;  threatened  me  as  though  I  was  a  blackmailer ; 
almost  looked  as  if  she  could  have  killed  me  and  buried 
me  in  the  garden  of  the  Canonry.  .  .  . 

"  I've  examined  the  business  of  the  Warren  Hotels  Ltd. 
since  then,  but  it's  a  private  company,  and  all  its  doings 
are  so  cleverly  concealed.  .  .  .  Aunt  Liz  doesn't  figure 
amongst  the  shareholders  any  more  than  Crofts  does. 
That  horrid  Bax  holds  most  of  the  shares  now,   and 


i6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

mother  the  rest.  .  .  .  Yet  Aunt  Liz  must  be  rich  and  she 
certainly  didn't  ^et  it  from  the  Canon,  who  only  left  a  net 
personality  of  under  £4,000.  ...  I  read  his  will  at 
Somerset  House.  .  .  .  She  has  had  her  portrait  in  the 
Queen  because  she  gave  a  large  subscription  to  the  under- 
pinning of  Winchester  Cathedral  and  the  restoration  of 
Wolvesey  as  a  clergy  house.  .  .  .  Mother  must  be  very  rich, 
I  should  judge,  from  certain  indications.  I  expect  she  will 
retire  from  the  '  Hotels,'  some  day,  wipe  out  the  past,  and 
buy  a  new  present  with  her  money.  .  .  .  She'll  have  her 
portrait  in  the  Queen  some  day  as  a  Vice-President  of  the 
Girls'  Friendly  Society !  .  .  .  And  yet  she's  such  a  gam- 
bler and  a  rake  that  she  juay  get  pinched  over  the  White 
Slave  traffic.  ...  I  was  on  tenterhooks  over  that  Lewis- 
sohn  case  the  other  day,  fearing  every  moment  to  see 
mother's  name  mixed  up  with  it,  or  else  an  allusion  to  her 
*  Hotels.'  But  I  fancy  she  has  been  wise  enough  —  in- 
deed I  should  guess  that  Aunt  Liz  had  long  ago  warned 
her  to  lea^'e  England  alone  as  a  recruiting  ground  and  to 
collect  her  chambermaids,  waitresses,  musicians,  typists 
from  the  Continent  only  —  Austria,  Alsace,  Bohemia, 
Belgium,  Italy,  the  Rhineland,  Paris,  Russia,  Poland. 
Knowing  what  we  British  people  are,  can't  you  almost 
■predict  the  bias  of  Aunt  Liz's  mind?  How  she  would 
solace  herself  that  her  dividends  were  not  derived  from 
the  prostitution  of  English  girls  but  only  of  '  foreign- 
ers '?.  .  ." 

Norie:  "  You  seem  to  have  studied  the  geography  of 
the  business  pretty  thoroughly !  .  .  ." 

P^izne  (bitterly)  :  "Yes.  I  have  talked  it  over  with 
Stead  from  time  to  time.  I  believe  he  has  only  spared 
mother  and  the  Warren  Hotels  out  of  consideration  for 
me  .  .  .  He  wants  me  to  change  my  surname  and  give 
myself  a  chance.   ..." 

Norie:  "1  see"  (pausing).  "Of  course  it  is  rather 
an  idea,  as  you  refuse  to  disguise  yourself  by  marriage. 


VIVIE  AND  NORIE  17 

You'd  change  your  name  and  then  Hsten  with  equanimity 
to  fulminations  against  the  Warren  Hotels.  But  there 
would  be  an  awkwardness  in  the  firm.  We  oughtn't  to 
change  our  title  just  as  we  are  getting  a  good  clientele. 
...  I  must  think  ...  If  only  we  could  pretend  you'd 
been  left  some  property  —  but  that  sort  of  lie  is  soon 
found  out !  —  and  had  to  change  your  name  to  —  to  —  to. 
Oh  well,  we  could  soon  think  of  some  name  beginning 
with  a  W  —  Walters,  Waddilove  —  Waddilove  is  a  deli- 
cious name  in  cold  weather,  suggesting  cotton-wool  or  a 
warm  duvet  —  or  Wilson  —  or  Wilberforce.  But  I'm 
afraid  the  staff  —  Rose  Mullet  and  Lil}^  Steynes  and  the 
amorous  Bertie  Adams  —  would  think  it  odd,  put  two  and 
two  together,  and  guess  right.  Warren,  after  all,  is  such 
a  common  name.  And  we've  got  so  used  to  our  three 
helpers,  we  could  hardly  turn  them  off,  and  take  on  new 
people  whom  perhaps  we  couldn't  trust.  .  .  .  We  must 
think  it  over.  .  .  . 

"  Now  I  must  go  back  to  Queen  Anne's  Mansions  and 
sit  a  little  while  with  Mummy.  Come  and  dine  with  us? 
There'll  only  be  us  three  ...  no  horrid  man  to  fall  in 
love  with  you.  .  .  .  You  needn't  put  on  a  low  dress  .  .  . 
and  we'll  go  to  the  dress  circle  at  some  play  afterwards." 

Vivie:  "  But  those  papers  on  my  desk?  I  must  have 
your  opinion  for  or  against.  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "  All  right.  It's  half-past  five.  I'll  give  them 
half  an  hour's  study  whilst  you  wash  up  the  tea  things 
and  titivate.  Then  we'll  take  a  hansom  to  Quansions  :  the 
Underground  is  so  grimy." 


CHAPTER  II 

HONORIA    AND    HER    FRIENDS 

THE  story  of  Honoria  Eraser  was  something  like 
this :  partly  guesswork,  I  admit.  Although  I  know 
her  well  I  can  only  put  her  past  together  by  deductions 
based  on  a  few  admitted  facts,  one  or  two  letters  and 
occasional  unfinished  sentences,  interrupted  by  people 
coming  in.  Is  it  not  ahvays  thus  with  our  friends  and 
acquaintances?  I  long  to  know  all  about  them  from 
their  birth  (including  date  and  place  of  birth  and  parent- 
age) onwards ;  what  the  father's  profession  was  and  why 
on  earth  he  married  the  mother  (after  I  saw  the 
daguerreotype  portrait),  and  how  they  became  possessed 
of  so  much  money,  and  why  she  went  back  to  live  with 
her  mother  between  the  birth  of  her  second  child  and  the 
near  advent  of  her  third.  But  in  how  very  few  cases  do 
w^e  know  their  whole  story,  do  we  even  care  to  know  more 
than  is  sufficient  for  our  purpose  in  issuing  or  accepting 
invitations?  There  are  the  Dombeys  —  the  Gorings  as 
they're  now  called,  who  live  near  us.  I've  seen  the  tomb- 
stone of  Lucilla  Smith  in  Goring  churchyard,  but  I  don't 
know  for  a  fact  that  Lord  Goring  was  the  father  of 
Lucilla's  son  (who  was  killed  in  the  war).  I  guess  he 
was,  from  this  and  that,  from  what  Mrs.  Legg  told  me, 
and  what  I  overheard  at  the  Sterns'.  If  he  wasn't,  then 
he  has  only  himself  to  thank  for  the  wrong  assumption  :  I 
mean,  from  his  goings-on. 

Then  again,  the  Clementses,  w'ho  live  at  the  Grange.     I 
feel  instinctively  they  are  nice  people,  but  I  haven't  the 

least  idea  who  she  was  and  how  he  made  his  money, 

i8 


HONORIA  AND  HER  FRIENDS  19 

though  from  his  acreage  and  his  motors  I  am  entitled  to 
assume  he  has  a  large  income.  She  seems  to  know  a 
lot  about  Spain ;  but  I  don't  feel  encouraged  to  ask  her : 
"  Was  your  father  in  the  wine  trade?  Is  that  why  you 
know  Xeres  so  well  ?  "  Clements  himself  has  in  his  study 
an  enlarged  photograph  of  a  handsome  woman  with  a 
kind  of  mourning  wreath  round  the  frame  —  beautifully 
carved.  Is  it  the  portrait  of  a  former  wife?  Or  of  a 
sister  who  committed  suicide?  Or  was  it  merely  bought 
in  Venice  for  the  sake  of  the  carving?  Perhaps  I  shall 
know  some  day  —  if  it  matters.  In  a  moment  of  ex- 
pansion during  the  Railway  Strike,  Mrs.  Clements  will 
say:  "  That  .was  poor  Walter's  first.  She  died  of  acute 
dyspepsia,  poor  thing,  on  their  marriage  tour,  and  was 
buried  at  Venice.  Don't  ever  allude  to  it  because  he 
feels  it  so  dreadfully."  And  my  curiosity  will  have  been 
rewarded  for  its  long  and  patient  restraint.  Clements' 
little  finger  on  his  left  hand  is  mutilated.  I  have  never 
asked  why  —  a  lawn-mowing  machine  ?  Or  a  bite  from 
some  passionate  mistress  in  a  buried  past?     I  note  silently 

that  he  disapproves  of  palmistry 

But  about  Honoria  Eraser,  to  whom  I  was  introduced 
by  Mr.  George  Bernard  Shaw  twenty  years  ago:  She 
was  born  in  1872,  as  Who's  Who  will  tell  you;  also  that 
she  was  the  daughter  and  eldest  child  of  a  famous  physi- 
cian (Sir  Meldrum  Eraser)  who  wrought  some  marvel- 
lous cures  in  the  'sixties,  'seventies  and  'eighties,  chiefly  by 
dieting  and  psycho-therapy.  (He  got  his  knighthood  in 
the  first  jubilee  year  for  reducing  to  reasonable  propor- 
tions the  figure  of  good-hearted,  thoroughly  kindly,  and 
much  loved  Princess  Mary  of  Oxford. )  He  —  Honoria's 
father —  was  married  to  a  beautiful  woman,  a  relation  of 
Bessie  Rayner  Parkes,  with  inherited  advanced  views  on 
the  Rights  and  Position  of  Woman.  Lady  Eraser  was, 
indeed,  an  early  type  of  Suffragist  and  also  wrote  some 
poetry  which  was  far  from  bad.     They  had  two  children : 


20  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Honoria,  born,  as  I  sa}^  in  1872;  and  John  (John  Stuart 
Mill  Eraser  was  his  full  name  —  too  great  a  burden  to  be 
borne)  four  years  later  than  Honoria,  who  was  devoted 
to  him,  idolized  him,  as  did  his  mother  and  father. 
Honoria  went  to  Bedford  College  and  Newnham ;  John  to 
one  of  the  two  most  famous  of  our  public  schools  (I  need 
not  be  more  precise),  with  Cambridge  in  view  afterwards. 

But  in  the  case  of  John  a  tragedy  occurred.  He  had 
risen  to  be  head  of  the  school;  statesmen  with  little 
affectation  applauded  him  on  speech  days.  He  had  been 
brilliant  as  a  batsman,  was  a  champion  swimmer,  and 
facile  prince ps  in  the  ineptitudes  of  the  classics;  and 
showed  a  dazzling  originality  in  other  studies  scarcely 
within  the  school  curriculum.  Further  he  was  growing 
out  of  boy  gawkiness  into  a  handsome  youth  of  an 
Apolline  mould,  when,  on  the  morning  of  his  eighteenth 
birthday,  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed,  with  a  bottle  of 
cyanide  of  potassium  on  the  bed-table  to  explain  why. 

All  else  was  wrapt  in  mystery  ...  at  any  rate  it  was 
a  mystery  I  have  no  wish  to  lay  bare.  The  death  and  the 
inquest  verdict,  "  Suicide  while  of  unsound  mind,  due  to 
overstudy,"  broke  his  father's  heart  and  his  mother's :  in 
the  metaphorical  meaning  of  course,  because  the  heart  is 
an  unemotional  pump  and  it  is  the  brain  and  the  nerve 
centres  that  suffer  from  our  emotions.  Sir  Meldrum 
Eraser  died  a  3^ear  after  his  son.  He  left  a  fortune  of 
eighty  thousand  pounds.  Half  of  this  went  at  once  to 
Honoria  and  the  other  half  to  the  life-use  of  Lady  Eraser 
with  a  reversion  to  her  daughter. 

Honoria  after  her  father's  death  left  Cambridge  and 
moved  her  mother  from  Harley  Street  to  Queen  Anne's 
Mansions  so  that  with  her  shattered  nerves  and  loss  of 
interest  in  life  she  might  have  no  household  Vv'orries,  or  at 
any  rate  nothing  worse  than  remonstrating  with  the  still- 
room  maids  on  the  twice-^boiled  water  brought  in  for  the 
making  of  tea;  or  with  the  culinary  department  over  the 


HONORIA  AND  HER  FRIENDS  21 

monotonous  character  of  the  savouries  or  the  tepid  ice 
creams  which  dissolved  so  rapidly  into  fruit-juice  when 
they  were  served  after  a  house-dinner.^  Honoria  herself, 
mistress  of  a  clear  two  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  more 
in  prospect,  carried  out  plans  formed  while  still  at  Newn- 
ham  after  her  brother's  death.  She,  like  Vivien  Warren, 
her  three-years-younger  friend  and  college-mate,  was  a 
great  mathematician  —  a  thing  I  never  could  be  and  a 
status  I  am  incapable  of  understanding;  consequently  one 
I  view  at  first  with  the  deepest  respect.  I  am  quite  aston- 
ished when  I  meet  a  male  or  female  mathematician  and 
find  they  require  food  as  I  do,  are  less  quick  at  adding  up 
bridge  scores,  lose  rather  than  win  at  Goodwood,  and 
write  down  the  "  down  "  train  instead  of  the  "  up  "  in 
their  memorabilia.  But  there  it  is.  They  have  only  to 
apply  sines  and  co-sines,  tangents  and  logarithms  to  a 
stock  exchange  quotation  for  me  to  grovel  before  their 
superior  wisdom  and  consult  them  at  every  turn  in  life. 

Honoria  had  resolved  to  turn  her  great  acquirements 
in  Algebra  and  the  Higher  Mathematics  to  practical  pur- 
poses. Being  the  ignoramus  that  I  am  —  in  this  direction 
—  I  cannot  say  how  it  was  to  be  done ;  but  both  she  and 
Vivie  had  grasped  the  possibilities  which  lay  before  ex- 
ceptionally well-educated  women  on  the  Stock  Exchange, 
in  the  Provision  markets,  in  the  Law,  in  Insurance  cal- 
culations, and  generally  in  steering  other  and  weaker 
women  through  the  difficulties  and  pitfalls  of  our  age; 
when  in  nine  cases  out  of  thirteen  (Honoria  worked  out 
the  ratio)  women  of  large  or  moderate  means  have  only 
dishonest  male  proficients  to  guide  them. 

Moreover  Honoria's  purpose  was  two-fold.  She 
wished  to  help  women  in  their  business  affairs,  but  she  also 
wanted  to  find  careers  for  women.  She,  like  Vivien  War- 
ren, was  a  nascent  suffragist  —  perhaps  a  born  suffragist, 
a  reasoned  one;  because  the  ferment  had  been  in  her 

^  This,  of  course,  was  twentj^.  years  ago. —  H.  H.  J. 


22  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

mother,  and  her  grandmother  was  a  friend  of  Lydia 
Becker  and  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Belloc.  John's  death  had 
been  a  horrible  numbing  shock  to  Honoria,  and  she  felt 
hardly  in  her  right  mind  for  three  months  afterwards. 
Then  on  reflection  it  left  some  tarnish  on  her  family,  even 
if  the  memory  of  the  dear  dead  boy,  the  too  brilliant  boy, 
softened  from  the  poignancy  of  utter  disappointment  into 
a  tender  sorrow  and  an  infinite  pity  and  forgiveness. 

But  the  tragedy  turned  her  thoughts  from  marriage  to 
some  mission  of  well-doing.  She  determined  to  devote 
that  proportion  of  her  inheritance  which  would  have  been 
John's  share  to  this  end :  the  liberation  and  redemption  of 
women. 

She  was  no  "  anti-man,"  like  Vivie.  She  liked  men,  if 
truth  were  told,  a  tiny  wee  bit  more  than  women.  But 
she  wished  in  the  moods  that  followed  her  brother's  death 
in  1894  to  be  a  mother  by  adoption,  a  refuge  for  the 
fallen,  the  bewildered,  the  unstrung.  She  helped  young 
men  back  into  the  path  of  respectability  and  wage-earning 
as  well  as  young  women.  She  was  even,  when  oppor- 
tunity offered,  a  matchmaker. 

Being  heiress  eventually  to  £4,000  a  year  (a  large  in- 
come in  pre-war  days)  and  of  attractive  appearance,  she 
had  no  lack  of  suitors,  eve^  though  she  thought  modern 
dancing  inane,  and  had  little  skill  at  ball-games.  I  have 
indicated  her  appearance  by  some  few  phrases  already; 
but  to  enable  you  to  visualize  her  more  definitely  I  might 
be  more  precise.  She  was  a  tall  woman  rather  than  large 
built,  like  the  young  Juno  when  first  wooed  by  Jove. 
Where  she  departed  from  the  Junonian  type  she  turned 
towards  Venus  rather  than  Minerva;  in  spite  of  being  a 
mathematician.  You  meet  with  her  sisters  in  physical 
beauty  among  the  Americans  of  Pennsylvania,  where,  to 
a  stock  mainly  Anglo-Saxon,  is  added  a  delicious  strain 
of  Gallic  race ;  or  you  see  her  again  among  the  Cape  Dutch 
women  who  have  had  French  Huguenot  great  grand- 


HONORIA  AND  HER  FRIENDS  23 

parents.  It  is  perhaps  rather  impertinent  continuing  this 
analysis  of  her  charm,  seeing  that  she  Hves  and  flourishes 
more  than  ever,  twenty  years  after  the  opening  of  my 
story ;  not  very  different  in  outward  appearance  at  48,  as 
Lady  Amistrong  —  for  of  course,  as  you  guess  already, 
she  married  ]\Iajor  —  afterwards  Sir  Petworth  —  Arm- 
strong —  than  she  was  at  twenty-eight,  the  partner,  friend 
and  helper  of  Vivien  Warren. 

Being  in  comfortable  circumstances,  highly  educated, 
handsome,  attracti\T,  with  a  mezzo-soprano  voice  of  rare 
beauty  and  great  skill  as  a  piano-forte  accompanyist,  she 
had  not  only  suitors  who  took  her  rejection  without  bit- 
terness, but  hosts  of  friends.  She  knew  all  the  nice  Lon- 
don people  of  her  day :  Lady  Feenix,  who  in  some  ways 
resembled  her,  Diana  Dombey,  who  did  not  quite  approve 
of  her,  being  a  little  uncertain  yet  about  welcoming  the 
New  Woman,  all  the  Ritchies,  married  and  unmarried. 
Lady  Brownlow,  the  Duchess  of  Bedford  (Adeline),  the 
Michael  Fosters,  most  of  the  Stracheys  (she  liked  the 
ones  I  liked),  the  Hubert  Parry's,  the  Ripons  (how  she 
admired  Lady  Ripon,  as  who  did  not!),  Mrs.  Alfred 
L3'ttelton,  Miss  Lena  Ashwell,  the  Bernard  Shaws,  the 
Wilfred  Meynells,  the  H.  G.  Wellses,  the  Sidney  Webbs; 
and  —  leaving  uninstanced  a  number  of  other  delightful, 
warm-blooded,  pleasant-voiced,  natural-mannered  people 
—  the  Rossiters. 

Or  at  least,  Michael  Rossiter.  For  although  you  could 
tolerate  for  his  sake  Mrs.  Rossiter,  and  even  find  her  a 
source  of  quiet  amusement,  you  could  hardly  say  you  liked 
her  —  not  in  the  way  you  could  say  it  of  most  of  the  men 
and  women  I  have  specified.  Michael  Rossiter,  who 
comes  into  this  story,  ought  really  if  there  w^ere  a  dis- 
criminating wide-awake,  up-to-date  Providence  —  which 
there  is  not  —  to  have  met  Honoria  when  she  was  twenty. 
(At  nineteen  such  a  woman  is  still  immature;  and  more- 
over until  she  was  twenty,  Honoria  had  not  mastered  the 


24  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Binomial  Theorem.)  Had  he  married  her  at  that  period 
he  would  himself  have  been  about  twenty-seven  which  is 
quite  soon  enough  for  a  great  man  of  science  to  marry  and 
procreate  geniuses.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  when  he 
came  down  to  Cambridge  in  —  ?  1892  —  to  deliver  a 
course  of  Vacation  lectures  on  embryology,  he  was  al- 
ready two  years  married  to  Linda  Bennet,  an  heiress,  the 
daughter  and  niece  (her  parents  died  when  she  was  young 
and  she  lived  with  an  uncle  and  aunt)  of  very  rich  manu- 
facturers at  Leeds. 

So,  though  his  eye,  quick  to  discern  beauty,  and  his 
brain  tentacles  ready  to  detect  intelligence  combined  with 
a  lovely  nature,  soon  singled  out  Honoria  Eraser,  amongst 
a  host  of  less  attractive  girl-graduates,  he  had  no  more 
thought  of  falling  in  love  with  her  than  with  a  princess  of 
the  blood-royal.  He  might,  long  since,  within  a  month 
of  his  marriage  have  found  out  his  Linda  to  be  a  pretty 
little  simpleton  with  a  brain  incapable  of  taking  in  any 
more  than  it  had  learnt  at  a  Scarborough  finishing  school ; 
but  he  was  too  instinctive  a  gentleman  to  indulge  in  any 
flirtation,  any  deviation  whatever  from  mental  or  physical 
monogamy.  For  he  remembered  always  that  it  was  his 
wife's  money  which  had  enabled  him  to  pursue  his  great 
researches  without  the  heart-breaking  delays,  limitations 
and  insufficiencies  involved  in  Government  or  Royal  So- 
ciety grants;  and  that  Linda  had  not  only  endowed  him 
with  all  her  worldly  goods  —  all  but  those  he  had  insisted 
in  putting  into  settlement  —  but  that  she  had  given  him 
all  her  heart  and  confidence  as  well. 

Still,  he  liked  Llonoria.  She  was  eager  to  learn  much 
else  beyond  the  hard-grained  muses  of  the  square  and 
cube;  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  prosperous  and  boldly 
experimental  physician,  whose  wife  was  a  champion  of 
women's  rights.  So  he  pressed  Honoria  to  come  with 
her  mother  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  himself  and 
Linda  in  Portland  Place. 


HONORIA  AND  HER  FRIENDS  25 

Why  was  Michael  Rossiter  wedded  to  Linda  Bennet 
when  he  was  no  more  than  twenty-five,  and  she  just  past 
her  coming  of  age?  Because  fresh  from  Edinburgh  and 
Cambridge  and  with  a  reputation  for  unusual  intuition  in 
Biology  and  Chemistry  he  had  come  to  be  Science  master 
at  a  great  College  in  the  North,  and  thus  meeting  Linda  at 
the  Philosophical  Institute  of  Leeds  had  caused  her  to 
fall  in  love  with  him  whilst  he  lectured  on  the  Cainozoic 
fauna  of  Yorkshire.  He  was  himself  a  Northumbrian  of 
borderland  stock :  something  of  the  Dane  and  Angle,  the 
Pict  and  Briton  with  a  dash  of  the  Gypsy  folk:  a  blend 
which  makes  the  Northumbrian  people  so  much  more  pro- 
ductive of  manly  beauty,  intellectual  vivacity,  bold  origi- 
nality than  the  slow-witted,  bulky,  crafty  Saxons  of  York- 
shire or  the  under-sized,  rugged-featured  Britons  of 
Lancashire. 

Linda  fell  in  love  all  in  one  evening  with  his  fiery  eyes, 
black  beard,  the  Northumbrian  burr  of  his  pronunciation, 
and  the  daring  of  his  utterances,  though  she  could  scarcely 
grasp  one  of  his  hypotheses.  Her  uncle  and  aunt  being 
narrowly  pietistic  she  was  bored  to  death  with  the  Old 
Testament,  and  Rossiter's  scarcely  concealed  contempt  for 
the  Mosaic  story  of  creation  captured  her  intellect ;  while 
the  physical  attraction  she  felt  was  that  which  the  tall, 
handsome,  resolute  brunet  has  for  the  blue-eyed  fluffy 
little  blonde.  She  openly  made  love  to  him  over  the  tea 
and  coffee  served  at  the  "  soiree  "  which  followed  the 
lecture.  Her  slow-witted  guardian  had  no  objection  to 
offer ;  and  there  were  not  wanting  go-betweens  to  urge  on 
Rossiter  with  stories  of  her  wealth  and  the  expanding 
value  of  her  financial  interests.  He  wanted  to  marry;  he 
was  touched  by  her  ill-concealed  passion,  found  her  pretty 
and  appealingly  childlike.  So,  after  a  short  wooing,  he 
married  her  and  her  five  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and 
settled  down  in  Park  Crescent,  Portland  Place,  so  as  to  be 
near  the  Zoo  and  Tudell's  dissecting  rooms,  to  have  the 


26  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Royal  Botanic  gardens  within  three  minutes'  walk,  and 
the  opportunity  of  turning  a  large  studio  in  the  rear  of 
his  house  into  a  well-equipped  chemical  and  dissecting 
laboratory.  One  of  his  close  pursuits  at  that  time  was 
the  analysis  of  the  Thyroid  gland  and  its  functions,  its 
over  or  under  development  in  British  statesmen,  dramatic 
authors  and  East  End  immigrants. 


CHAPTER  III 

DAVID    VAVASOUR    WILLIAMS 

IT  is  in  the  spring  of  190 1.  A  fine  warm  evening,  but 
at  eight  o'clock  the  dusk  is  already  on  the  verge  of 
darkness  as  Honoria  emerges  from  the  lift  at  her  Chan- 
cery Lane  Office  (near  the  corner  of  Carey  Street),  puts 
her  latch-key  into  the  door  of  the  partners'  room,  and  finds 
herself  confronting  the  silhouette  of  a  young  man  against 
the  western  glow  of  the  big  window. 

Noric  (inwardly  rather  frightened):  "Hullo!  Who 
are  yoii  and  what  are  you  doing  here?  '' 

Vivie  (mimicking  a  considerate,  cringing  burglar)  : 
"  Sorry  to  startle  you,  lid}' ,  but  I  don't  mean  no  'arm. 
I'll  go  quiet.     Me  name's  D.  V.  \\'^illiams.  .  .  ." 

Noric:  "You  absurd  creature!  But  you  shouldn't 
play  such  pranks  on  these  respectable  premises.  You 
gave  me  a  horrid  start,  and  I  realized  for  the  first  time 
that  I've  got  a  heart.     I  really  must  sit  down  and  pant." 

Vivie:  "  I  am  sorry,  dearest.  I  had  not  the  slightest 
notion  you  would  be  letting  yourself  into  the  office  at  this 
hour  —  8  o'clock  —  and  I  was  just  returning  from  my 
crammers.  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "  I  came  for  those  Cranston  papers.  Mother 
is  ill.  I  may  have  to  sit  up  with  her  after  Violet  Hunt 
goes,  so  I  thought  I  would  come  here,  fetch  the  bundle 
of  papers  and  plans,  and  go  through  them  in  the  silent 
watches  of  the  night,  if  mother  sleeps.  But  do  you  mean 
to  say  you  have  already  started  this  masquerade?  " 

Vivie:  "I    do.     You    see    Christabel    Pankhurst    has 

27 


28  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

been  turned  down  as  a  barrister.  They  won't  let  her 
qualify  for  the  Bar,  because  she's  a  woman,  so  they  cer- 
tainly won't  let  inc  with  my  pedigree ;  just  as,  merely  be- 
cause we  are  women,  they  won't  let  us  become  Chartered 
Actuaries  or  Incorporated  Accountants.  After  we  had 
that  long  talk  last  June  I  got  a  set  of  men's  clothes  to- 
gether, a  regular  man's  outfit.  The  suit  doesn't  fit  over 
well  but  I  am  rectifying  that  by  degrees.  I  went  to  a 
general  outfitter  in  Cornhill  and  told  a  cock-and-bull 
story  —  as  it  was  an  affair  of  ready  cash  they  didn't 
stop  to  question  me  about  it.  I  said  something  about 
a  sea-faring  brother,  just  my  height,  a  trifle  stouter  in 
build  —  lost  all  his  kit  at  sea  —  been  in  hospital  —  now 
in  convalescent  home  —  how  I  wanted  to  save  him  all 
the  fatigue  possible  —  wouldn't  want  more  than  reach- 
me-downs  at  present,  etc.,  etc.  They  rather  flummoxed 
me  at  first  by  offering  a  merchant  service  uniform,  but 
somehow  I  got  over  that,  though  this  serge  suit  has 
rather  a  sea-faring  cut.  I  got  so  unnecessarily  explana- 
tory with  the  shopman  that  he  began  to  pay  me  compli- 
ments, said  my  brother  must  be  a  good-looking  young 
chap  if  he  was  at  all  like  me.  However,  I  got  away 
with  the  things  in  a  cab,  and  told  the  cab  to  drive  to 
St.  Paul's  station,  and  on  the  way  re-directed  him  here. 
"  Last  autumn  I  began  practising  at  night-time  after 
all  our  familiars  had  left  these  premises.  Purposely  I 
did  not  tell  you  because  I  feared  your  greater  caution 
and  instinctive  respectability  might  discourage  me. 
Otherwise,  nobody's  spotted  me,  so  far.  Pd  intended 
breaking  it  to  you  any  day  now,  because  Pve  gone  too 
far  to  draw  back,  for  weal  or  woe.  But  either  we  have 
been  rushed  with  business,  or  you've  been  anxious  about 
Lady  Eraser — How  is  she?"  (Norie  interpolates 
"Very  poorly.")  "So  truly  sorry!  — I  was  generally 
just  about  to  tell  you  when  Rose  or  Lilian  —  tiresome 
things !  —  would  begin  most  assiduously  passing  in  and 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  29 

out  with  papers.  Even  now  I  mustn't  keep  you,  with 
your  mother  so  ill.  .  .  ." 

Noric  (looking  at  her  wrist-watch)  :  "  Violet  has  very 
kindly  promised  to  stay  with  mother  till  ten.  ...  I  can 
give  you  an  hour,  though  I  must  take  a  few  minutes  off 
that  for  the  firm's  business  as  I  haven't  been  here  much 

for    three    days "      (They     talk    business     for 

twenty  minutes,  during  which  Norie  says :  "  It's  really 
rather  odd,  how  those  clothes  change  you!  I  feel 
vaguely  compromised  with  a  handsome  young  man  bend- 
ing over  me,  his  cheek  almost  touching  mine!" — and 
Vivie  retorts  "  Oh,  don't  be  an  ass!  ") 

Noric:  "  So  you  reall}'-  are  going  to  take  the  plunge?  " 

Vivie:  "  I  really  am.  As  soon  as  it  suits  your  con- 
venience, Vivie  Warren  will  retire  from  your  firm  and 
go  abroad.  You  must  either  replace  her  by  Beryl  Clarges 
or  allow  Mr.  Vavasour  Williams"  (Honoria  inter- 
polates :  "  Ridiculous  name !  How  did  you  think  of 
it?")  "to  come  and  assist  in  the  day-time  or  after  of- 
fice hours.  You  can  say  to  the  winds  that  he  is  Vivie's 
first  cousin,  remarkably  like  her  in  some  respects.  .  .  . 
Rose  Mullet  is  engaged  to  be  married  and  is  only  —  she 
told  me  yesterday  with  many  blushes  —  staying  on  to 
oblige  us.  Lilian  Steynes  said  the  other  day  that  if  we 
were  making  any  changes  in  the  office,  much  as  she  liked 
her  work  here,  her  mother  having  died  she  thought  it  was 
her  duty  to  go  and  live  with  her  maternal  aunt  in  the 
country.  The  aunt  thinks  she  can  get  her  a  post  as  a 
brewery  clerk  at  Aylesbur}',  and  she  is  longing  to  breed 
Aylesbury  ducks  in  her  spare  time. —  There  is  Bertie 
Adams,  it's  true.  There's  something  so  staunch  about 
him  and  he  is  so  useful  that  he  and  Praed  and  Stead  are 
the  three  exceptions  I  make  in  my  general  hatred  of 
mankind " 

Noric:  "  He  will  be  very  much  cut  up  at  your  going 
—  or  seeming  to  go." 


30  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Vivie:  "  Just  so.  I  think  I  shall  write  him  a  fare- 
well note,  saying  it's  only  for  a  time:  I  mean,  that  I 
may  return  later  on  —  dormant  partnership  —  nothing 
really  changed,  don't  you  know  ?  But  that  as  Rose  and 
Lilian  are  going,  Mrs.  —  what  does  she  call  herself,  Clar- 
idge?  " —  (Norie  interpolates:  "  Yes,  that  was  her  idea: 
she  doesn't  want  to  blazon  the  name  of  Clarges  as  the 
symbol  of  Free  Love,  'cos  of  the  dear  old  Dean;  yet 
Claridge  will  not  be  too  much  of  a  surrender  and  is  sure 
to  invoke  respectability,  because  of  the  Hotel'')  — 
"  Mrs.  Claridge,  then,  is  coming  in  my  stead  —  He's  to 
help  her  all  he  can  —  and  my  cousin,  who  is  reading  for 
the  Bar,  will  also  look  in  when  you  are  very  busy.  I  shall, 
of  course,  see  about  rooms  in  one  of  the  Inns  of  Court  — 
the  Temple  perhaps.  I  have  been  stealthily  watching  Fig 
Tree  Court.  I  think  I  can  get  chambers  there  —  a  man 
is  turning  out  next  month  —  got  a  Colonial  appointment 
—  Fve  put  my  new  name  down  at  the  lodge  and  I  shall 
have  to  rack  my  brains  for  references  —  you  will  do  for 
one  —  or  perhaps  not  —  however  that  I  can  work  out 
later.  Of  course  I  won't  take  the  final  plunge  till  I  have 
secured  the  rooms.  Meantime  I  will  use  my  bedroom 
here  but  promise  you  I  will  be  awfully  prudent.  .  .  ." 

Noric:  "  I  couldn't  possibly  have  Beryl  '  living  in,' 
with  a  child  hanging  about  the  place;  so  I  think  if  you 
do  go  I  shall  turn  your  bedroom  into  an  apartment  which 
Beryl  and  I  can  use  for  toilet  purposes  but  where  we 
can  range  out  on  book-shelves  a  whole  lot  of  our  books. 
Just  now  they  are  most  inconveniently  stored  away  in 
boxes.  It's  rather  tiresome  about  Beryl.  I  believe  she's 
going  to  have  another  child.  At  any  rate  she  says  it  may 
be  four  months  before  she  can  come  to  work  here  regu- 
larly. I  asked  her  about  it  the  other  day,  because  if 
mother  gets  worse  I  may  be  hindered  about  coming  to 
the  office,  and  I  didn't  want  you  to  get  overworked, —  so 
I  said  to  Beryl.  .   .  .  That  reminds  me,  she  referred  to 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  31 

the  coming  child  and  added  that  its  father  was  a  police- 
man. Quite  a  nice  creature  in  his  private  life.  Of 
course  she's  only  kidding.  I  expect  it's  the  architect 
all  the  time.  You  know  how  she  delighted  in  shocking 
us  at  Newnham.  I  wish  she  hadn't  this  kink  about  her. 
P'raps  I'm  getting  old-fashioned  already  —  You  used 
to  call  me  *  the  Girondist.'  But  if  the  New  Woman  is 
to  go  on  the  loose  and  be  unmoral  like  the  rabbits,  won't 
the  cause  suffer  from  middle-class  opposition?  " 

Viz'ie:  "  Perhaps.  But  it  may  gain  instead  the  sym- 
pathies of  the  lower  and  the  upper  classes.  Why  do  you 
bother  about  Beryl?  I  agree  with  you  in  disliking  all 
this  sexuality.  ..." 

Noric:  "  Does  one  ever  quite  know  why  one  likes  peo- 
ple? There  is  something  about  Beryl  that  gets  over  me; 
and  she  is  a  worker.  You  know  how  she  grappled  with 
that  Norfolk  estate  business  ?  " 

Vivie:  "  Well,  it's  fortunate  she  and  I  have  not  met 
since  Newnham  days.  You  must  tip  her  the  story  that  I 
am  going  away  for  a  time  —  abroad  —  and  that  a  young 
—  young,  because  1  look  a  mere  boy,  dressed  up  in  men's 
clothes  —  a  young  cousin  of  mine,  learned  in  the  law,  is 
going  to  drop  in  occasionally  and  do  some  of  the 
work.  .  .  ." 

Norie:  "  I'm  afraid  I'm  rather  weak-willed.  I  ought 
to  stop  this  prank  before  it  has  gone  too  far,  just  as  I 
ought  to  discourage  Beryl's  babies.  Your  schemes  sound 
so  stagey.  Off  the  stage  you  never  take  people  in  with 
such  flimsy  stories  and  weak  disguises  —  you'll  tie  your- 
self up  into  knots  and  finally  get  sent  to  prison.  .  .  . 
However.  ...  I  can't  help  being  rather  tickled  by  your 
idea.  It's  vilely  unjust,  men  closing  two-thirds  of  the 
respectable  careers  to  women,  to  bachelor  women  above 
all.  .  .  .''  (A  pause,  and  the  two  women  look  out  on  a 
blue  London  dotted  with  lemon-coloured,  straw-coloured, 
mauve-tinted  lights,  with  one  cold  white  radiance  hang- 


32  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

ing  over  the  invisible  Piccadilly  Circus)  — "  Well,  go 
ahead !  Follow  your  star !  I  can  be  confident  of  one 
thing,  you  won't  do  anything  mean  or  disgraceful.  De- 
ceiving Man  while  his  vile  laws  and  restrictions  remain  in 
force  is  no  crime.  Be  prudent,  so  far  as  compromising 
our  poor  little  firm  here  is  concerned,  because  if  you  bring 
down  my  grey  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  we  shall 
lose  a  valuable  source  of  income.  Besides :  any  public 
scandal  just  now  in  which  I  was  mixed  up  might  kill  my 
mother.     Want  any  money  ?  " 

Vivie:  "You  generous  darling!  Never,  never  shall  I 
forget  your  kindness  and  your  trust  in  me.  You  have  at 
any  rate  saved  one  soul  alive."  (Honoria  deprecates 
gratitude.)  "No,  I  don't  want  money  —  yet.  You 
made  me  take  and  bank  £700  last  January  over  that  Rio  de 
Palmas  coup  —  heaps  more  than  my  share.  Altogether 
I've  got  about  £1,000  on  deposit  at  the  C.  and  C.  bank, 
the  Temple  Bar  branch.  I've  many  gruesome  faults,  but 
I  am  thrifty.  I  think  I  can  win  through  to  the  Bar  on 
that.     Of  course,  if  afterwards  briefs  don't  come  in " 

Norie:  "  Well,  there'll  always  be  the  partnership  which 
will  go  on  unaltered.  I  shall  pretend  you  are  only  away 
for  a  time  and  your  share  shall  be  regularly  paid  in  to  your 
bank.  Of  course  I  shall  meet  Mr.  Vavasour  Williams 
now  and  again  and  I  can  tell  him  things  and  consult  with 
him.  If  we  think  Beryl,  after  she  is  installed  here  as  head 
clerk  —  of  course  I  shan't  make  her  a  partner  for  years 
and  years  —  not  at  all  if  she  remains  flighty  —  if  we 
think  she  is  unsuspicious,  and  Bertie  Adams  likewise,  and 
the  new  clerks  and  the  housekeeper  and  her  husband,  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  come  here  fairly  often 
and  put  in  as  much  work  as  you  can  on  our  business." 

Vi-vie:  "  Yes,  Of  course  I  must  be  careful  of  one 
predicament.  I  have  studied  the  regulations  about  being 
admitted  to  the  English  Bar.     They  are  very  quaint  and 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  33 

medieval  or  early  Georgian.  You  mayn't  be  a  Chartered 
Accountant  or  Actuary  —  the  Lord  alone  knows  why !  I 
suppose  some  Lord  Chancellor  was  done  in  the  eye  in 
Elizabeth's  reign  by  an  actuary  and  laid  down  that  law. 
Equally  you  mayn't  be  a  clergyman.  As  to  that  we 
needn't  distress  ourselves.  It's  rather  piteous  about  the 
prohibiting  Accountants,  because  as  women  we  are  not 
allowed  to  qualify  in  any  capacity  as  Accountants  or 
Actuaries;  and  work  here  is  only  permissible  by  our  not 
pretending  to  belong  to  any  recognized  body  like  the 
Institute  of  Actuaries.  So  that  in  coming  to  work  for 
you  I  must  not  seem  to  be  in  any  way  doing  the  business 
of  Accountants  or  Actuaries.  Indeed  it  might  be  awk- 
ward for  my  scheme  if  I  was  too  openly  associated  with 
Eraser  and  Warren. 

"  I  already  think  of  myself  as  Williams  —  I  shall  pose 
of  course  as  a  Welshman.  My  appearance  is  rather 
Welsh,  don't  you  think?  It's  the  Irish  blood  that  makes 
me  look  Keltic  —  I'm  sure  my  father  was  an  Irish  student 
for  the  priesthood  at  Louvain,  and  certain  scraps  of  in- 
formation I  got  out  of  mother  make  me  believe  that 
her  mother  was  a  pretty  Welsh  girl  from  Cardiff,  brought 
over  to  London  Town  by  some  ship's  captain  and  stranded 
there,  on  Tower  Hill. 

"  However,  I  have  still  the  whole  scheme  to  work  out 
and  when  I'm  ready  to  start  on  it  —  which  will  be  very 
soon  —  I'll  let  you  know.  Now,  though  I'd  love  to  dis- 
cuss all  the  other  details,  I  mustn't  forget  your  mother 
will  be  wanting  you  —  I  wish  /  had  a  mother  to  tend  —  I 
wonder  "  (wistfully)  "  whether  I  was  too  hard  on  mine? 

"  D'you  mind  posting  these  letters  as  you  go  out  ?  I 
shall  change  back  to  Vivie  Warren  in  a  dressing  gown, 
give  myself  a  light  supper,  and  then  put  in  two  hours 
studying  Latin  and  Norman  French.  Good  night, 
dearest!  " 


34  MRS.   WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Two  months  after  this  conversation  Vivie  decided  to 
pay  a  caH  on  an  old  friend  of  her  mother's,  Lewis  Mait- 
land  Praed,  if  you  want  his  full  name,  a  well-known 
architect,  and  one  of  the  few  male  friends  of  Catherine 
Warren  who  had  not  also  been  her  lover.  Why,  he  never 
quite  knew  himself.  When  he  first  met  her  she  was  the 
boon  companion,  the  mistress  —  more  or  less,  and  unat- 
tached —  of  a  young  barrister,  a  college  friend  of  Praed's. 
Kate  Warren  at  that  time  called  herself  Kitty  Vavasour; 
and  on  the  strength  of  having  done  a  turn  or  two  on  the 
music  halls  considered  herself  an  actress  with  a  right  to  a 
professional  name.  It  was  in  this  guise  that  the 
"  Revd."  Samuel  Gardner  met  her  and  had  that  six 
months'  infatuation  for  her  which  afterwards  caused  him 
so  much  disquietude ;  though  it  preceded  the  taking  of  his 
ordination  vows  by  quite  a  year,  an.d  his  marriage  to  his 
wife  —  much  too  good  for  him  —  in  1874.  [The  Revd. 
Sam,  you  may  remember,  was  the  father  of  the  scapegrace 
Frank  who  nearly  captured  Vivie's  young  affections  and 
had  written  from  South  Africa  proposing  marriage  at  the 
opening  of  this  story.] 

Kate  Vavasour  in  1872  was  an  exceedingly  pretty  girl 
of  nineteen  or  twenty;  showily  dressed,  and  quick  with 
her  tongue.  She  was  good-natured  and  jolly,  and  though 
Praed  himself  was  the  essence  of  refinement  there  was 
something  about  her  reckless  mirth  and  joy  in  life  —  the 
immense  relief  of  having  passed  from  the  sordid  life  of  a 
barmaid  to  this  quasi-ladyhood  —  that  enlisted  his  sym- 
pathies. Though  she  was  always  somebody  else's  mis- 
tress until  she  developed  her  special  talent  as  a  manageress 
of  high-class  houses  of  accommodation,  "  private  hotels  " 
on  the  Continent,  chiefly  frequented  by  English  and  Amer- 
ican roues —  Praed  kept  an  eye  on  her  career,  and  occa- 
sionally rendered  her,  with  some  cynicism,  unobtrusive 
friendly  services  in  disentangling  her  affairs  when  com- 
plications threatened.     He  was  an  art  student  in  those 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  35 

days  of  the  'seventies,  possessed  of  about  four  hundred  a 
year,  beginning  to  go  through  the  aesthetic  phase,  and 
not  decided  whether  he  would  emerge  a  painter  of  pictures 
or  an  architect  of  grandiose  or  fantastic  buildings.  To 
his  studio  Miss  Kitty  Vavasour  or  Miss  Kate  Warren 
would  often  come  and  pose  for  the  head  and  shoulders,  or 
for  some  draped  caryatid  wanted  for  an  ambitious  porch 
in  an  imaginary  millionaire's  house  in  Kensington  Palace 
Gardens.  When  in  1897,  Vivie  had  learnt  about  her 
mother's  "  profession,"  she  had  flung  off  violently  from 
all  her  mother's  "  friends,"  except  '"  Praddy."  She  even 
continued  to  call  him  by  this  nickname,  long  ago  bestowed 
on  him  by  her  mother.  At  distant  intervals  she  would 
pay  him  a  visit  at  his  house  and  studio  near  Hans  Place ; 
when  Honoria's  advice  and  assistance  did  not  meet  the 
case  of  some  grave  perplexity. 

So  one  afternoon  in  June,  1901,  she  came  to  his  little 
dwelling  with  its  large  studio,  and  asked  to  have  a  long 
talk  to  him,  whilst  his  parlour-maid  —  he  was  still  a 
bachelor  —  denied  him  to  other  callers.  They  had  tea 
together  and  Vivie  plunged  as  quickly  as  possible  into  her 
problem. 

"  You  know,  Praddy  dear,  I  want  to  be  a  Barrister. 
But  as  a  female  they  will  never  call  me  to  the  Bar.  So 
Fm  going  to  send  Vivien  Warren  off  for  a  long  absence 
abroad  —  the  few  who  think  about  me  will  probably  con- 
clude that  money  has  carried  the  day  and  that  I've  gone  to 
help  my  mother  in  her  business  —  and  in  her  absence  Mr. 
Vavasour  Williams  will  take  up  the  running.  David  V. 
Williams  —  don't  interrupt  me  —  will  study  for  the  Bar, 
eat  through  his  terms  —  six  dinners  a  year,  isn't  it  ?  — 
pass  his  examinations,  and  be  called  to  the  English  Bar 
in  about  three  years  from  now.  Didn't  you  once  have  a 
pupil  called  Vavasour  Williams?  " 

Praed:  "What,  David,  the  Welsh  boy?  Yes.  His 
name  reminded  me  of  your  mother  in  one  of  her  stages. 


36  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

David  Vavasour  Williams.  I  took  him  on  in  —  let  me 
see?  I  think  it  was  in  1895  or  early  1896.  But  how 
did  you  hear  about  him  ?  " 

Viz'ie:  "  Never  mind,  or  never  mind  for  the  moment. 
Tell  me  some  more  about  him." 

Pracd:  "  Well  to  sum  him  up  briefly  he  was  what 
school  boys  and  subalterns  would  call  '  a  rotter.'  Not 
without  an  almost  mordid  cleverness ;  but  the  Welsh  strain 
in  him  which  in  the  father  turned  to  emotional  religion  — 
the  father  was  Vicar  or  Rector  of  Pontystrad  —  came  out 
in  the  boy  in  unhealthy  fancies.  He  had  almost  the  talent 
of  Aubrey  Beardsley.  But  I  didn't  think  he  had  a  good 
influence  over  my  other  pupils,  so  before  I  planned  that 
Italian  journey  —  on  which  you  refused  to  accompany  me 
—  I  advised  him  to  leave  my  tuition  —  I  wasn't  modern 
enough,  I  said.  I  also  advised  him  to  make  up  his  mind 
whether  he  wanted  to  be  a  sane  architect  —  he  despised 
questions  of  housemaids'  closets  and  sanitation  and  lifts 
and  hot-water  supply  —  or  a  scene  painter.  I  think  he 
might  have  had  a  great  career  at  Drury  Lane  over  fairy 
palaces  or  millionaire  dwellings.  But  I  turned  him  out 
of  my  studio,  though  I  put  the  fact  less  brutally  before 
his  father  —  said  I  should  be  absent  a  long  while  in  Italy 
and  that  I  feared  the  boy  was  too  undisciplined.  After- 
wards I  think  he  went  into  some  South  African  police 
force.  .  .  ," 

Vivie:  "  He  did,  and  died  last  year  in  a  South  African 
hospital.  Had  he  —  er  —  er  —  many  relations,  I  mean 
did  he  come  of  well-known  people?  " 

Pracd:  "  I  fancy  not.  His  father  was  just  a  dreamy 
old  Welsh  clergyman  always  seeing  visions  and  believing 
himself  a  descendant  of  the  Druids.  Sam  Gardner  told 
me;  and  his  mother  had  either  died  long  ago  or  had  run 
away  from  her  husband,  I  forget  which.  In  a  way,  I'm 
sorry  David's  dead.     He  had  a  sort  of  weird  talent  and 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  37 

wild  good  looks.     By  the  way,  he  wasn't  altogether  unlike 
you." 

Viz'ie:  "  Thank  you  for  the  double-edged  compliment. 
However  what  you  say  is  vei*}^  interesting.  Well  now, 
my  idea  is  that  David  Vavasour  Williams  did  not  die  in  a 
military  hospital;  he  recovered  and  returned,  firmly  re- 
solved to  lead  a  new  life. —  Is  his  father  living  by  the  bye? 
Did  he  believe  his  son  was  dead?  " 

Praed:  "  Couldn't  tell  you,  I'm  sure.  I  never  took  any 
further  interest  in  him,  and  until  you  mentioned  it  —  I 
don't  know  on  whose  authoritv  —  I  didn't  know  he  was 
dead.  On  the  whole  a  good  riddance  for  his  people,  I 
should  say,  especially  if  he  died  on  the  field  of  honour. 
But  what  lunatic  idea  has  entered  your  mind  with  regard 
to  this  poor  waster  ?  " 

Vizic:  "  Why  my  idea,  as  I  say,  is  that  D.  V.  W.  got 
cured  of  his  necrosis  of  the  jaw  ■ —  I  suppose  it  is  not 
invariably  deadly  ?  —  came  home  with  a  much  improved 
morale,  studied  hard,  and  became  a  barrister,  thinking  it 
morally  a  superior  calling  to  architecture  and  scene  paint- 
ing. In  short,  I  shall  be  from  this  day  forth  Vavasour- 
Williams,  law-student!  Would  it  be  safe,  d'you  think,  in 
that  capacity  to  go  down  and  see  his  old  father?  " 

Praed:  "  Vivid  I  did  think  you  were  a  sober-minded 
young  woman  who  would  steer  clear  of  —  of  — 
crime :  for  this  impersonation  would  be  a  punishable 
offence.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  Crime f  What  nonsense!  I  should  consider 
I  was  justified  in  a  Court  of  Equity  if  I  burnt  down  or 
blew  up  the  Law  Courts  or  one  of  the  Inns  or  broke  the 
windows  of  the  Chartered  Institute  of  Actuaries  or  the 
Incorporated  Law  Society.  All  these  institutions  and 
many  others  bar  the  way  to  honourable  and  lucrative 
careers  for  educated  women,  and  a  male  parliament  gives 
us  no  redress,  and  a  male  press  laughs  at  us  for  our  feeble 


38  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

attempts  to  claim  common  rights  with  men.  Instead  of 
proceeding  to  such  violence  I  am  merely  resorting  to  a 
very  harmless  guile  in  getting  round  the  absurd  restrictions 
imposed  by  the  benchers  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  namely  that 
all  who  claim  a  call  to  the  Bar  should  not  be  accountants, 
actuaries,  clergymen  or  women.  I  am  going  to  give  up 
the  accountancy  business  —  or  rather,  the  law  has  never 
allowed  either  Honoria  or  me  to  become  chartered  ac- 
countants, so  there  is  nothing  to  give  up.  To  avoid  any 
misapprehension  she  is  going  to  change  the  title  on  our 
note  paper  and  brass  plate  to  '  General  Inquiry  Agents.' 
That  will  be  sufficiently  non-committal.  Well  then,  as  to 
sex  disqualification,  a  few  weeks  hence  I  shall  become 
David  Vavasour  Williams,  and  I  presume  he  was  a  male? 
You  don't  have  to  pass  a  medical  examination  for  the 
Bar,  do  you  ?  " 

Praed:  "  Really,  Vivie,  you  are  unnecessarily 
coarse.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  I  don't  care  if  I  am,  poor  outlaw  that  I  am! 
Every  avenue  to  an  honest  and  ambitious  career  seems 
closed  to  me,  either  because  I  am  a  woman  or  —  in 
women's  careers  —  the  few  that  there  are  —  because  I  am 
Kate  Warren's  daughter.  /  am  not  to  blame  for  my 
mother's  misdeeds,  yet  I  am  being  punished  for  them. 
That  beast  of  a  friend  of  yours  —  that  filthy  swine, 
George  Crofts  —  set  it  about  after  I  refused  to  marry 
him  that  I  was  '  Mrs.  Warren's  Daughter,'  and  the  few 
nice  people  I  knew  from  Cambridge  days  dropped  me,  all 
except  Honoria  and  her  mother." 

Praed:  "  Well,  /  haven't  dropped  you.  /'//  always 
stick  by  you"  (observes  that  Vivie  is  trying  to  keep 
back  her  tears) .  "  Vivie  —  darling  —  what  do  you  want 
me  to  do?  Why  not  marry  me  and  spend  half  my  in- 
come, take  the  shelter  of  my  name  —  I'm  an  A.R.A.  now 
—  You  needn't  do  more  than  keep  house  for  me.  .  .  . 
I'm  rather  a  valetudinarian  —  dare  say  I  shan't  trouble 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  39 

you  long  —  we  could  have  a  jolly  good  time  before  I  went 
off  with  a  heart  attack  —  travel  —  study  —  write  books 
together  — " 

Vivie  (recovering  herself):  "Thanks,  dear  Praddy; 
you  are  a  brick  and  I  really  —  in  a  way  —  have  quite  got 
to  love  you.  Except  an  office  boy  in  Chancery  Lane 
and  W.  T.  Stead,  I  don't  know  any  other  decent  man. 
But  I'm  not  going  to  marry  any  one.  I'm  going  to  be- 
come Vavasour  Williams  —  the  name  is  rotten,  but  you 
must  take  what  you  can  get.  Williams  is  a  quiet  young 
man  who  only  desires  to  be  left  alone  to  earn  his  living 
respectably  at  the  Bar,  and  see  there  if  he  cannot  redress 
the  balance  in  the  favour  of  women.  But  there  is  some- 
thing you  could  do  for  me,  and  it  is  for  that  I  came  to  see 
you  to-day  —  by  the  bye,  we  have  both  let  our  tea  grow 
cold,  but  for  goodness'  sake  don't  order  any  more  on  my 
account,  or  else  your  parlour-maid  will  be  coming  in  and 
out  and  will  see  that  I've  been  crying  and  you  look  flushed. 
What  I  wanted  to  ask  was  this  —  it's  really  very  simple 
—  //  Mr.  Vavasour  Williams,  aged  twenty-four,  late  in 
South  Africa,  once  your  pupil  in  architecture  or  scene 
painting  or  whatever  it  was  —  gives  you  as  a  reference  to 
character,  you  are  to  say  the  best  you  can  of  him.  And, 
by  the  bye,  he  will  be  calling  to  see  you  very  shortly  and 
you  could  lend  further  verisimilitude  to  your  story  by  re- 
newing acquaintance  with  him.  You  will  find  him  very 
much  improved.  In  every  way  he  will  do  you  credit. 
And  what  is  more,  if  you  don't  repel  him,  he  will  come 
and  see  you  much  oftener  than  his  cousin  —  I'm  not 
ashamed  to  adopt  her  as  a  cousin  —  Vivie  Warren  could 
have  done.  Because  Vivie,  with  her  deplorable  parentage, 
had  your  good  name  to  think  of,  and  visited  you  very 
seldom;  whereas  there  could  be  raised  no  objection  from 
your  parlour-maid  if  ]\Ir.  D.  V.  Williams  came  rather 
often  to  chat  with  you  and  ask  your  advice.  Think  it 
over,  dear  friend  —  Good-bve." 


40  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Early  in  July,  Norie  and  Vivie  were  standing  at  the 
open  west  window  in  their  partners'  room  at  the  office, 
trying  to  get  a  little  fresh  air.  The  staff  had  just  gone 
its  several  ways  to  the  suburbs,  glad  to  have  three  hours 
of  daylight  before  it  for  cricket  and  tennis.  Confident 
therefore  of  not  being  overheard,  Vivie  began  :  "  I've  got 
those  rooms  in  Fig  Tree  Court.  I  shall  soon  be  ready  to 
move  my  things  in.  I'll  leave  some  of  poor  Vivie  War- 
ren's effects  behind  if  you  don't  mind,  in  case  she  comes 
back  some  day.  Do  you  think  you  can  rub  along  if  I  take 
my  departure  next  week?  I  want  to  give  myself  a  fort- 
night's bicycle  holiday  in  Wales  —  as  D.  V.  Williams  — 
a  kind  of  honeymoon  with  Fate,  before  I  settle  down  as  a 
law  student.  After  I  come  back  I  can  devote  much  of  the 
summer  recess  to  our  affairs,  either  openly  or  after  office 
hours.  You  could  then  take  a  holiday,  in  August.  You 
badly  need  one.     What  about  Beryl?  " 

Noric:  "  Beryl  is  well  over  her  accouchement  and  is 
confident  of  being  able  to  start  work  here  on  August  i. 
.  .  .  It's  a  boy  this  time.  I  haven't  seen  it,  so  I  can't  say 
whether  it  resembles  a  policeman  more  than  an  architect. 
Besides  babies  up  till  the  age  of  six  months  only  resemble 
macrocephalic  idiots,  ...  I  shall  be  zvary  with  Beryl  — 
haven't  committed  myself  —  ourselves  to  any  engagement 
beyond  six  months.  She's  amazingly  clever,  but  I  should 
say  quite  heartless.  Two  babies  in  three  years,  and  both 
illegitimate  —  the  real  Mrs.  Architect  very  much  upset,  no 
doubt,  Mr.  Architect  getting  wilder  and  wilder  in  his  work 
through  trying  to  maintain  two  establishments  —  they  say 
he  left  out  all  the  sanitation  in  Sir  Peter  Robinson's  new 
house  and  let  the  builders  rush  up  the  walls  without  damp 
courses  —  and  it's  killing  her  father,  the  Dean.  It's  not 
as  though  she  hid  herself  away,  but  she  goes  out  so  much! 
They  are  talking  of  turning  her  out  of  her  club  because  of 
the  things  she  says  before  the  waitresses.  ..." 

Vivie:  "  What  things  ?  " 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  41 

Norie:  "Why,  about  its  being  very  healthy  to  have 
babies  when  you're  between  the  ages  of  twenty  and 
thirty;  and  how  with  this  twihght  sleep  business  she 
doesn't  mind  how  often ;  that  it's  fifty  times  more  interest- 
ing than  breeding  dogs  and  cats  or  guinea-pigs ;  and  she's 
surprised  more  single  women  don't  take  it  up.  I  think 
she  must  be  detraquee.  ...  I  have  a  faint  hope  that  by 
taking  her  in  hand  and  interesting  her  in  our  work  — 
which  entre  nous  deux —  is  turning  out  to  be  very  profit- 
able —  I  may  sober  her  and  regularize  her.  No  doubt  in 
1950  most  women  will  talk  as  she  does  to-day,  but  the 
advance  is  too  abrupt.  It  not  only  robs  Iter  parents  of  all 
happiness,  but  it  upsets  iny  mother.  She  now  wrings  her 
hands  over  her  own  past  and  fears  that  by  w^orking  so 
strenuously  for  the  emancipation  of  women  she  has  as- 
sisted to  breach  the  dam  —  Can't  you  imagine  the  way  the 
old  cats  of  both  sexes  go  on  at  her?  —  the  dam  which 
held  up  female  virtue,  and  that  Society  now  will  be 
drowned  in  a  flood  of  Free  Love.  .   .  ." 

Vh'ie:  "  Well !  We'll  give  her  a  six  months'  trial 
here,  and  see  if  our  mix-up  of  advice  in  Law,  Banking, 
Estate  management,  Stock-and-share  dealing,  Divorce, 
Private  Enquiries,  probate,  etc.,  does  not  prove  much 
more  interesting  than  an  illicit  connection  with  a  hare- 
brained architect.  ...  If  she  proves  impossible  you'll 
pack  her  off  and  Vivie  shall  return  and  D.  V.  Williams  go 
abroad.  .  .  .  Don't  you  think  there  is  something  that 
ought  to  win  over  Providence  in  that  happily  chosen 
name?  D.  V.  Williams?  And  my  mother  once  actually 
called  herself  *  Vavasour.' 

"  Well,  then,  barring  accidents  and  the  unforeseen,  it's 
agreed  I  go  on  my  holiday  next  Saturday,  to  return  never 
no  more  —  perhaps  —  ? " 

Norie  (with  a  sigh)  :  "  Yes!  " 

Vivie:  "  How's  your  mother?  " 

Norie:  "  Oh,  as  to  her,  I'm  glad  to  say  'much  better.' 


42  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

When  I  can  get  away,  after  the  new  clerks  and  Beryl 
are  installed  and  everything  is  going  smoothly,  I  shall 
take  her  to  Switzerland,  to  a  deliciously  quiet  spot  I  know 
and  nobody  else  knows  up  the  Goschenenthal.  The  Con- 
tinent won't  be  so  hot  for  travelling  if  we  don't  start  till 
the  end  of  August.  ..." 

Vivie:  "  Then,  dearest  ...  in  case  you  don't  come  to 
the  office  any  more  this  week,  I'll  say  good-bye  —  for  — 
for  some  time.   ..." 

(They  grip  hands,  they  hesitate,  then  kiss  each  other 
on  the  cheek,  a  very  rare  gesture  on  cither's  part  —  and 
separate  with  tears  in  their  eyes.) 

The  following  Monday  morning,  Bertie  Adams,  com- 
bining in  his  adolescent  person  the  functions  of  office 
boy,  junior  clerk,  and  general  factotum,  entered  the  outer 
office  of  Eraser  and  Warren  and  found  this  letter  on  his 
desk :  — 

Eraser  and  Warren  Midland  Insurance  Chambers, 

General  Inquiry  Agents         88-90,  Chancery  Lane,  W.  C. 

July  12,  1901. 

Dear  Bertie  — 

I  want  to  prepare  you  for  something.  If  you  had 
been  an  ordinary  Office  boy,  I  should  not  have  bothered 
about  you  or  confided  to  you'  anything  concerning  the 
Firm.  But  you  are  by  now  almost  a  clerk,  and  from  the 
day  I  joined  Miss  Eraser  in  this  business,  you  have  helped 
me'  more  than  you  know  —  helped  me  not  only  in  my 
work,  but  to  understand  that  there  can  be  good,  true, 
decent-minded,  truistworthy  .  .  .  -you  won't  like  it  if  I 
say  "  boys  "...     young  men. 

I  am  going  away  for  a  considerable  time,  I  cannot 
say  how  long  —  probably  abroad.  But  Miss  Eraser 
thinks  I  can  still  help  in  the  work  of  her  firm,  so  I  re- 
main a  partner.     A  cousin  of  mine,  Mr.  D.  V.  Williams, 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  43 

may  come  in  occasionally  to  help  Miss  Fraser.  I  shall 
ask  him  to  keep  an  eye  on  you.  Miss  Rose  Mullet  and 
Miss  Steynes  are  likewise  leaving  the  service  of  the 
firm.  I  dare  say  }'ou  know  Miss  Mullet  is  getting  mar- 
ried and  how  Miss  Steynes  is  going  to  live  at  Aylesbury. 
Two  other  ladies  are  coming  in  their  place,  and  much 
of  my  own  work  will  be  undertaken  by  a  ]\lrs.  Claridge, 
whom  you  will  shortly  see. 

It  is  rather  sad  this  change  in  what  has  been  such 
a  happy  association  of  busy  people,  nobody  treading  on 
any  one  else's  toes ;  but  there  it  is !  "  The  old  order 
changeth,  giving  place  to  the  new  .  .  .  lest  one  good 
custom  should  corrupt  the  world  " —  you  will  read  in  the 
Tennyson  I  gave  you  last  Christmas.  Let's  hope  it  won't 
be  when  I  return :  "  Change  and  Decay  in  all  around 
I  see  "...  as  the  rather  dismal  hymn  has  it. 

Sometimes  change  is  a  good  thing.  You  serve  a  noble 
mistress  in  Miss  Fraser  and  I  am  sure  you  realize  the 
importance  of  her  work.  It  may  mean  so  much  for 
women's  careers  in  the  next  generation.  I  shan't  quite 
lose  touch  with  you.  I  dare  say  Miss  Fraser,  even  if  I 
am  far  away,  will  write  to  me  from  time  to  time  and  give 
me  news  of  the  office  and  tell  me  how  you  get  on.  Don't 
be  ashamed  of  being  ambitious :  keep  up  your  studies. 
Why  don't  you  —  but  perhaps  you  do?  —  join  evening 
dasses  at  the  Polytechnic  ?  —  or  at  this  new  London 
School  of  Economics  which  is  close  at  hand?  Make  up 
your  mind  to  be  Lord  Chancellor  some  day  .  .  .  even  if 
it  only  carries  you  as  far  as  the  silk  gown  of  a  Q.C 
1  suppose  I  ought  now  to  write  "  K.  C."  A  few  years  ago 
we  all  thought  the  State  would  go  to  pieces  when  Victoria 
died.  Yet  you  see  we  are  jogging  along  pretty  well 
under  King  Edward.  In  the  same  way,  you  will  soon 
get  so  used  to  the  new  Head  Clerk,  Mrs.  Claridge,  that 
you  will  wonder  what  on  earth  you  saw  to  admire  in 

Vivien  Warren. 


44  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

This  letter  came  like  a  cricket  ball  between  the  eyes 
to  Bertie  Adams.  His  adored  Miss  Warren  going  away 
and  no  clear  prospect  of  her  return  —  her  farewell  almost 
like  the  last  words  on  a  death-bed.  .  .  .  He  bowed  his 
head  over  his  folded  arms  on  his  office  desk,  and  gave 
way  to  gruff  sobs  and  the  brimming  over  of  tear  and  nose 
glands  which  is  the  grotesque  accompaniment  of  human 
sorrow. 

He  forgot  for  a  while  that  he  was  a  young  man  of 
nineteen  with  an  unmistakable  moustache  and  the  status 
of  a  cricket  eleven  captain.  He  was  cjuite  the  boy  again 
and  his  feeling  for  Vivien  Warren,  which  earlier  he  had 
hardly  dared  to  characterize,  out  of  his  intense  respect 
for  her,  became  once  more  just  filial  affection. 

His  good  mother  was  a  washerwoman-widow,  in  whom 
Honoria  Eraser  had  interested  herself  in  her  Harley 
Street  girlhood.  Bertie  was  the  eldest  of  six,  and  his 
father  had  been  a  coal  porter  who  broke  his  back  tumbling 
down  a  cellar  when  a  little  "on."  Bertie  —  he  now 
figured  as  Mr.  Albert  Adams  in  the  cricket  lists  —  was  a 
well-grown  youth,  rather  blunt-featured,  but  with  honest 
hazel  eyes,  fresh-coloured,  shock-haired.  Vivie  had  once 
derided  him  for  trying  to  woo  his  frontal  hair  into  a  flat- 
tened curl  with  much  pomade he  now  only  sleeked 

his  curly  hair  with  water.  You  might  even  have  called 
him  "  common."  He  was  of  the  type  that  went  out  to 
the  War  from  19 14  to  19 18,  and  won  it,  despite  the  many 
mistakes  of  our  flurried  strategicians :  the  type  that  so 
long  as  it  lasts  unspoilt  will  make  England  the  pre- 
dominant partner,  and  Great  Britain  the  predominant 
nation  ;  the  type  out  of  which  are  made  the  bluejacket  and 
petty  officer,  the  police  sergeant,  the  engine  driver,  the 
railway  guard,  solicitor's  clerk,  merchant  service  mate, 
engineer,  air-pilot,  chauffeur,  army  non-commiissioned 
officer,  head  gardener,  head  game-keeper,  farm-bailiff, 
head  printer ;  the  trustworthy  manservant,  the  commis- 


DAVID  VAVASOUR  WILLIAMS  45 

sionaire  of  a  City  Office;  and  which  in  other  avatars  ran 
the  British  World  on  an  average  annual  income  of  £150 
before  the  War.  When  women  of  a  similar  educated 
lower  middle  class  come  into  full  equality  with  men  in 
opportunity,  they  should  marry  the  Bertie  Adamses  of 
their  acquaintance  and  not  the  stockbrokers,  butchers, 
drapers,  bookies,  professional  cricketers  or  pugilists. 
They  would  then  become  the  mothers  of  the  salvation- 
generation  of  the  British  people  which  will  found  and 
rule  Utopia. 

However,  Bertie  Adams  was  quite  unconscious  of  all 
these  possibilities,  and  thought  of  himself  modestly, 
rather  cheaply.  Swallowing  the  fourth  or  fifth  sob,  he 
rose  from  his  crouching  over  the  desk,  wiped  his  face  with 
a  wet  towel,  smoothed  his  hair,  put  straight  his  turn- 
over collar  and  smart  tie,  and  went  to  his  work  with 
glowing  eyes  and  cheeks ;  resolved  to  show  Miss  Warren 
that  she  had  not  thought  too  highly  of  him. 

Nevertheless,  when  Miss  Mullet  arrived  and  giggled 
over  the  details  of  her  trousseau  and  Lily  Steynes  dis- 
cussed the  advertisements  of  Aylesbury  ducks  in  the  cur- 
rent Exchange  and  Mart,  he  was  reserved  and  rather 
sarcastic  with  them  both.  He  intimated  later  that  he  had 
long  been  aware  of  the  coming  displacements;  but  he 
said  not  a  word  of  Vivie's  letter. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PONTYSTRAD 

ON  a  morning  in  mid-July,  190 1,  Mr.  D.  V.  Williams 
bicycled  to  Paddington  Station  from  New  Square, 
Lincoln's  Inn.  The  brown  canvas  case  fitted  to  the 
frame  of  his  male  bicycle  contained  a  change  of  clothes, 
a  suit  of  paijamas,  a  safety  razor,  tooth-brush,  hair- 
brush and  comb.  He  himself  was  wearing  a  well-cut 
dark  grey  suit  —  Norfolk  jacket,  knickerbockers  and 
thick  stockings. 

Having  had  his  bicycle  labelled  "  Swansea,"  he  entered 
a  first-class  compartment  of  the  South  Wales  express. 
Though  not  lavish  on  his  expenditure  he  was  travelling 
first  because  he  still  felt  a  little  uneasy  in  the  presence 
of  men  —  mostly  men  of  the  rougher  type.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  second  class  in  those  days ;  there  may  be  still. 
But  I  have  a  distinct  impression  that  Mr.  Vavasour  Wil- 
liams, law  student,  travelled  "  first  "  on  this  occasion  :  for 
this  was  how  he  met  a  person  of  whom  his  friend, 
Honoria  Fraser,  had  often  spoken  —  Michael  Rossiter. 

He  did  not  of  course  —  till  after  they  had  passed 
Swindon  —  know  the  name  of  his  travelling  companion. 
Five  minutes  before  the  train  left  Paddington  there 
entered  his  compartment  of  the  corridor  carriage  a  tall 
man  with  a  short,  curly  black  beard  and  nice  eyes 
—  eyes  like  agates  in  colour.  There  was  a  touch  of 
grey  about  the  temples,  otherwise  the  head  hair,  when 
he  changed  from  a  hard  felt  hat  to  a  soft  travelling 
cap,  showed  as  dark  as  the  beard  and  moustache.  His 
frame  was  strong,  muscular  and  loosely  built,  and  he  had 

46 


PONTYSTRAD  47 

clever,  nervous  hands  with  fingers  somewhat  spatulate. 
His  clothes  did  not  much  suggest  the  tourist  —  they 
seemed  more  like  a  too  v/ell-worn  town  morning  suit  of 
dark  blue  serge;  as  though  he  had  left  home  in  an  ab- 
sent-minded mood  intent  on  some  hurriedly  conceived 
plan.  He  cast  one  or  two  quick  glances  at  David ;  once, 
indeed,  as  they  got  out  into  full  daylight,  away  from  tun- 
nels and  high  walls,  letting  his  glance  lengthen  into  a 
searching  look.  Then  he  busied  himself  with  a  number 
of  scientific  periodicals  he  had  brought  to  read  in  the 
train. 

Impelled,  he  knew  not  why,  to  provoke  conversation, 
David  asked  (quite  needlessly),  "This  is  the  South 
Wales  express,  I  mean  the  Swansea  train,  is  it  not?  " 

Blackbeard  was  struck  with  the  unusualness  of  the 
voice  —  a  very  pleasant  one  to  come  from  the  lips  of  a 
man  —  and  replied :  "  It  is ;  at  least  I  got  in  under  that 
impression  as  I  am  intending  to  go  to  Swansea;  but  in 
any  case  the  ticket  inspector  is  sure  to  come  along  the  cor- 
ridor presently  and  we'll  make  sure  then.  We  stop  at 
Swindon,  I  think,  so  if  we've  made  a  mistake  we  can 
rectify  it  there." 

Then  after  a  pause  he  resumed :  "I  think  you  said  you 
were  going  to  Swansea?  Might  I  ask  if  you  are  bound 
on  the  same  errand  as  1  am?  I  mean,  are  you  one  of 
Boyd  Dawkins's  party  to  examine  the  new  cave  on  the 
Gower  coast?  " 

D.  V.  W.:  "Oh  no  —  I  —  I  am  going  inland  from 
Swansea  to  —  to  have  a  bicycling  tour.  I'm  going  to 
a  place  on  the  river  —  I  don't  know  how  to  pronounce 
it  —  at  least  I've  forgotten.  The  river's  name  is  spelt 
Llwchwr." 

Blackbeard:  "  You  should  change  your  mind  and  turn 
south  —  come  and  see  these  extraordinary  caves.  Are 
you  interested  in  palseontolog}^? ''  (David  hesitates) 
"  What  careless  people  call  '  prehistoric  animals  '  or  '  pre- 


48  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

historic  man.'  They  have  been  ridiculously  misled  by 
comic  artists  in  Pnncli  who  imagine  a  few  thousand  years 
of  Prehistory  would  take  us  back  to  the  Cretaceous 
period;  really  four  or  five  million  years  before  Man  came 
into  existence,  when  this  country  and  most  other  lands 
swarmed  with  preposterous  reptiles  that  had  become  ex- 
tinct long  before  the  age  of  mammals.  However,  I 
don't  suppose  this  interests  you.  I  only  spoke  because 
I  thought  you  might  be  one  of  Boyd  Dawkins's  pu- 
pils. ...  or  one  of  mine." 

David:  "  On  the  contrary,  I  am  very,  very  much  in- 
terested in  the  subject,  but  I  am  afraid  it  has  lain  rather 
outside  my  line  of  studies  so  far  —  p'raps  I  will  turn 
south  when  I  have  seen  something  of  the  part  of  Glam- 
organ I  am  going  to.  I'm  really  Welsh  in  origin,  but 
I  know  Wales  imperfectly  because  I  left  it  when  I  was 
quite  young  "  ("  This  '11  be  good  practice,"  Vivie's  brain 
voice  was  saying  to  herself)  ..."  I've  returned  re- 
cently from  South  Africa." 

Blackbcard:  "  What  were  you  doing  there?  " 

David:  "I  —  I  —  w^as  in  the  army  ...  at  least  in  a 
police  force  ...  I  got  wounded,  had  to  go  into  hos- 
pital—  necrosis  of  the  jaw  ...  I  came  home  when  I 
got  well.  .  .  ." 

Blackbcard:  "Necrosis  of  the  jazvf  That  was  a  bad 
thing.  But  you  seem  to  have  got  over  it  very  well.  I 
can't  see  any  scar  from  where  I  am.  .  .  ." 

David:  "  Oh  no.  It  was  only  a  slight  touch  and  I 
dare  say  I  exaggerate.  .  .  .  I've  left  the  Army  however 
and  now  I'm  reading  Law.  .  .  ." 

Blackbcard  thinks  at  this  point  that  he  has  gone  far 
enough  in  cross-examination  and  returns  to  his  period- 
icals and  pamphlets.  But  there's  something  he  likes  — 
a  wistfulness  —  in  the  young  man's  face,  and  he  can't 
quite  detach  his  mind  to  the  presence  of  palaeolithic  man 
in  South  Wales.     At  Swindon  they  both  get  out  —  there 


PONTYSTRAD  49 

was  still  lingering  the  practice  of  taking  lunch  there  — 
have  a  hasty  lunch  together  and  more  talk,  and  share  a 
bottle  of  claret. 

On  returning  to  their  compartment,  Rossiter  offers 
David  a  cigar  but  the  young  man  prefers  smoking  a 
cigarette.  By  this  time  they  have  exchanged  names. 
D.  V.  W.  however  is  reticent  about  the  South  African 
War  —  says  it  was  all  too  horrible  for  words,  and  should 
never  have  taken  place  and  he  can't  bear  to  think  about 
it  and  was  knocked  out  quite  early  in  the  day.  Now  all 
he  asks  is  peace  and  quiet  and  the  opportunity  of  study- 
ing law  in  London  so  that  he  may  become  some  day  a 
barrister.  Rossiter  says  —  after  more  talk,  "  Pity 
you're  going  in  for  the  Bar  —  we've  too  many  lawyers 
already.  You  should  take  up  Science  " —  and  as  far 
as  the  Severn  Tunnel  discourses  illuminatingly  on  biol- 
ogy, mineralogy,  astronomy,  chemistry  as  David-Vivien 
had  never  heard  them  treated  previously.  In  the  Severn 
Tunnel  the  noise  of  the  train  silences  both  professor  and 
listener,  who  willingly  takes  up  the  position  of  pupil. 
Between  Newport  and  Neath,  David  thinks  he  has  never 
met  any  one  so  interesting.  It  has  been  his  first  real 
induction  into  the  greatest  of  all'books :  the  Book  of  the 
Earth  itself.  Rossiter  on  his  part  feels  indefinably  at- 
tracted by  this  young  expatriated  Welshman.  David  does 
not  say  much,  but  what  he  does  contribute  to  the  conver- 
sation shows  him  a  quick  thinker  and  a  person  of  trained 
intelligence.  Yet  somehow  the  professor  of  Biology  in 
the  University  of  London  —  and  many  other  things  be- 
side—F.R.S.,  F.Z.S.,  F.L.S.,  Gold  Medahist  of  this  and 
that  Academy  and  University  abroad  —  does  not  "  see  " 
him  as  a  soldier  or  a  non-commissioned  officer  in  the 
British  Army:  law-student  is  a  more  likely  qualification. 
However  as  they  near  Swansea.  Michael  Rossiter  gives 
Mr.  D.  V.  Williams  his  card  (D.  V.  W.  regrets  he  can- 
not reciprocate  but  says  he  has  hardly  settled  down  yet 


50  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

to  any  address)  and  —  though  as  a  rule  he  is  taciturn  in 
trains  and  cautious  about  making  acquaintances  —  ex- 
presses the  hope  he  will  call  at  i,  Park  Crescent  some 
afternoon — "My  wife  and  I  are  generally  at  home  on 
Thursdays  " —  when  all  are  back  in  town  for  the  autumn. 
They  separate  at  Swansea  station. 

David  spends  the  night  at  Swansea,  employing  some 
of  his  time  there  by  enquiring  at  the  Terminus  Hotel  as 
to  the  roads  that  lead  up  the  valley  of  the  Llwchwr,  what 
sort  of  a  place  is  Pontystrad  ("the  bridge  by  the 
meadow"),  whether  any  one  knows  the  clergyman  of 
that  parish,  Mr.  ,  .  .  er  .  .  .  HoAvel  Vaughan  Wil- 
liams. The  "  boots  "  or  one  of  the  "  bootses,"  it  appears, 
comes  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Pontystrad  and  knows 
the  reverend  gentleman  by  sight  —  a  nice  old  gentleman 
—  has  heard  that  he's  aged  much  of  late  years  since  his 
son  ran  away  and  disappeared  out  in  Africa.  His  sight 
was  getting  bad.  Boots  understood,  and  he  could  not  see 
to  do  all  the  reading  and  writing  he  was  once  so  great  at. 

After  a  rather  wakeful  night,  during  which  D.  V.  Wil- 
liams is  more  disturbed  by  his  thoughts  and  schemes  than 
by  the  continual  noises  of  the  trains  passing  into  and 
out  of  Swansea,  he  rises  early  and  drafts  a  telegram : — 

Revd.  Howel  Williams,  Vicarage,  Pontystrad,  Glam- 
organ.    Hope  return  home  this  evening.     All  is  well. 

David. 

Then  pays  his  bill  and  tries  to  mount  his  bicycle  the 
wrong  way  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  Boots;  then 
remembers  the  right  way  and  rides  off,  with  the  con- 
fidence of  one  long  accustomed  to  bicycling,  through  the 
crowded  traffic  of  Swansea  in  the  direction  of  Llwchwr. 

It  was  a  very  hot  ride  through  a  very  lovely  country, 
now  largely  spoilt  by  mining  and  metallurgy,  along  a 
road  that  was  constantly  climbing  up  steeply  to  descend 


PONTYSTRAD  51 

abruptly.  David  of  course  could  have  travelled  by  rail  to 
the  Pontyffynon  station  and  thence  have  ridden  back  three 
miles  to  Pontystrad.  But  he  wished  purposely  to  bicycle 
the  whole  way  from  Swansea  and  take  in  with  the  eye 
the  land  of  his  fathers.  He  was  postponing  as  long  as 
possible  the  test  of  meeting  his  father,  the  father  of  the 
young  n'eer-do-weel  who  had  been  lying  for  months  in 
a  South  African  field  hospital  the  year  before.  He  halted 
for  a  cup  of  tea  at  Llandeilotalybont  .  .  .  Wales  has 
many  place  names  like  this  .  .  .  and  being  there  not 
many  miles  from  Pontystrad  was  able  to  glean  more  re- 
cent and  more  circumstantial  information  about  the  man 
he  proposed  to  greet  as  "  father." 

At  half-past  six  that  evening,  having  perspired  and 
dried,  perspired  and  dried,  strained  a  tendon  and  acquired 
a  headache,  he  halted  before  the  gate  of  the  Vicarage 
garden  at  Pontystrad,  having  been  followed  thither  to  his 
secret  annoyance  b}^  quite  a  troop  of  village  boys  of 
whom  he  had  imprudently  asked  the  way.  As  they  talked 
Welsh  he  could  not  tell  what  they  were  saying,  but  con- 
jectured that  his  telegram  had  arrived  and  that  he  was 
expected. 

Standing  under  the  porch  of  the  house  was  an  old  man 
with  a  long  white  beard  like  a  Druid  in  spectacles  shad- 
ing his  eyes  and  expectant.  .  .  . 

A  bicycle  might  prove  an  incumbrance  in  the  ensuing 
interview,  so  David  hastily  propped  his  against  a  fuchsia 
hedge  and  hurried  forward  to  meet  the  old  man,  who 
extended  hands  to  envelop  him,  not  trusting  to  his  eyes. 
An  old,  rosy-cheeked  woman  in  a  sunbonnet  came  up 
behind  the  old  man,  shrieked  out  "  Master  David!  "  and 
only  waited  with  twitching  fingers  for  her  own  onslaught 
till  the  father  had  first  embraced  his  prodigal  son.  This 
was  done  at  least  three  times,  accompanied  with  tears, 
blessings,  prayers,  the  uplifting  of  poor  filmy  eyes  to  a 
cloudless  Heaven "  Diolch  i  Dduw!" — ejaculations 


52  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

as  to  the  wonder  of   it "  Rhyfedclol  yw   yn  eiholl 

ffyrdd  '• —  God's  Providence  —  His  ways  are  past  find- 
ing out!  "  Ni  ellir  olrain  ei  Ragluniaeth!  " — "  My  own 
dear  boy !     Fy  machgen  annwyli !  " 

Then  the  old  woman  took  her  turn :  "  Master  David ! 
Eh,  but  you're  changed,  mun!" — then  a  lot  of  Welsh 
exclamations,  which  until  the  Welsh  can  agree  to  spell 

their  tongue  phonetically   I   shall   not   insert "  Five 

years  since  you  left  us!  Eh,  and  I  never  thought  to 
see  you  no  more.  Some  said  you  wass  dead,  others  that 
you  wass  taken  prisoner  by  the  Wild  Boars.     But  here  you 

are,  and  welcome  —  indeed "     Then  Master  David 

between  the  embraces  was  scanned,  a  little  more  critically 
than  by  the  purblind  father,  but  with  distinct  approval. 

At  last  David  stood  apart  in  the  stone-flagged  hall  of 
the  Vicarage.  His  abundant  hair  was  rumpled,  his  face 
was  stained  by  other  people's  tears,  his  collar,  tie,  dress 
disordered,  and  his  heart  touched.  It  was  a  rare  ex- 
perience in  his  twenty-four  years  of  life  —  he  guessed 
that  should  be  his  age  —  to  find  himself  really  taken  on 
trust,  really  desired  and  loved.  Honoria's  friendship 
was  a  pure  and  precious  thing,  but  in  its  very  purity 
carefully  restrained.  Praddy's  kindness,  and  the  office 
boy's  worship  had  both  been  gratifying  to  Vivie's  self- 
esteem,  but  both  had  to  be  kept  at  bay.  Somehow  the 
love  of  a  father  and  of  an  old  nurse  were  of  a  different 
category  to  these  other  contacts. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  David's  brain  in 
thirty  seconds.  He  shook  himself,  straightened  him- 
self, smiled  adequately,  and  tried  to  live  up  to  the  situa- 
tion. 

"Dear  father!  And  dear  .  .  .  Nannie!  (A  bold  but 
successful  deduction).  How  sweet  of  you  both  —  greet- 
ing me  like  this.  Pve  come  home  a  very  different  David 
to  the  one  that  left  you  —  what  was  it  ?  Five  —  six  years 
ago?  —  to  go  to  Mr.  Praed's  studio.     Fve  learnt  a  lot 


PONTYSTRAD  53 

in  the  interval.  But  I'm  so  sick  of  the  past,  I  don't  want 
to  talk  about  it  more  than  I  can  help,  and  I've  been  in 
very  queer  health  since  I  got  ill  —  and  —  wounded  —  in 

—  South  Africa.     My  memory  has  gone  for  many  things 

—  I'm  afraid  I've  forgotten  all  my  Welsh,  Nannie,  but 
it'll  soon  come  back,  that  is,  if  I  may  stay  here  a  bit." 
(Exclamations  from  father  and  nurse:  "This  is  your 
home,  Davy-bach!  ")  "  I'm  not  going  to  stay  too  long 
this  time  because  I've  got  my  living  to  earn  in  Lon- 
don. .  .  . 

"  Did  you  never  hear  anything  about  me  from  .  .  . 
South  Africa  ...  or  the  War  Office  —  or  —  your  old 
college  chum,  Mr.  Gardner?  " 

"I  heard  —  my  own  dear  boy "  said  the  Revd. 

Howel,  again  taking  him  in  his  arms  in  a  renewed  spasm 
of  affection.  "  I  heard  you  were  wounded  and  very  ill 
in  the  camp  hospital  at  Colesberg.  It  was  a  nursing  sis- 
ter, I  think,  who  sent  me  the  information.  I  wrote  sev- 
eral times  to  the  War  Office,  my  letters  were  acknowl- 
edged, that  was  all.  Then  Sam  Gardner  wrote  to  me 
from  ]\Iargate  and  said  his  son  had  been  in  the  same 
hospital  with  you.  Later  on  I  saw  in  a  Bristol  paper  that 
this  hospital  —  Colesberg  —  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  Boers  and  the  Cape  insurgents.  Then  I  said  to 
myself  '  My  poor  boy's  been  taken  prisoner '  and  as  time 
went  on,  '  My  poor  boy's  dead,  or  he  would  have  writ- 
ten to  me.'  " 

Here  the  Revd.  Howel  stopped  to  wipe  his  eyes  and 
blow  his  nose.  David  touched  through  his  armour  of 
cynicism,  said  —  Nannie  retiring  to  prepare  the  evening 
meal  — "  Father  dear,  though  I  don't  want  to  refer  too 
often  to  the  past,  I  behaved  disgracefully  some  time  ago 
and  the  Colonies  seemed  my  only  chance  of  setting  my- 
self right.  I  did  manage  to  get  away  from  the  Boers,  but 
I  had  not  the  courage  to  present  myself  before  you  till 
I  had  done  something  to  regain  your  good  opinion.     I 


54  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

have  got  now  good  employment  in  London  and  I'm  even 
reading  up  Law.  We  will  talk  of  that  by  and  bye  but  I 
tell  you  now  —  from  my  heart  —  I  am  a  different  David 
to  the  one  you  knew,  and  you  shall  never  regret  taking 
me  back." 

Both  father  and  son  were  crying  now,  for  emotion 
especially  in  Wales  is  catching.  But  the  father  laughed 
through  his  tears ;  and  incoherently  thanked  God  for  the 
return  of  the  prodigal  —  a  fine  upstanding  lad  —  whole 
and  sound.  "  No  taint  about  you,  Davy,  I'll  be  bound. 
Why  your  voice  alone  shows  you've  been  a  clean  liver. 
It's  music  in  my  ears,  and  if  I  could  see  as  well  as  I  can 
hear  I'd  wager  you're  a  handsome  lad  and  have  lost 
much  of  your  foohshness.  Davy,  lad"  (lowering  his 
voice)  "  you've  no  cause  to  be  anxious  about  Jenny.  She 
—  she  —  had  a  boy,  but  we  got  her  married  to  a 
miner  —  I  made  it  right  with  him.  She  has  another 
child  now,  but  they're  being  brought  up  together.  We 
won't  refer  to  it  again.  She  lives  twenty  miles  from 
here,  at  Gower  —  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  there's  an  end  of 
it 

"  Now  you  won't  run  away  back  to  London  till  you're 
obliged?     Where's   your   luggage?     At    Pontyffynon?" 

"  No,"  said  David,  a  little  non-plussed  at  evidences 
of  his  dissolute  past  and  this  unexpected  fatherhood  as- 
sumed on  his  account.  "  I  haven't  more  luggage  than 
what  is  contained  in  my  bicycle  bag.  But  don't  let  that 
concern  you.  I'll  go  over  to  Swansea  one  day  or  some 
nearer  town  and  buy  what  may  be  necessary,  and  I'll 
stay  with  you  all  my  holidays,  tell  you  all  my  plans,  and 
even  after  I  go  back  to  London  I'll  always  come  down 
here  ^^•hen  I  can  get  away.  For  the  present  I'm  going 
simply  to  enjoy  myself  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  The 
last  four  years  we'll  look  on  as  a  horrid  dream.  What  a 
paradise  you  live  in."  His  eye  ranged  over  the  two- 
storeyed,   soundly-built  stone  house   facing  south,  with 


PONTYSTRAD  55 

mountains  behind  and  the  western  sun  throwing  shafts 
of  warm  yellow  green  over  the  lawn  and  the  flower  beds; 
over  clumps  of  elms  in  the  middle,  southern  distance,  that 
might  have  been  planted  by  the  Romans  (who  loved  this 
part  of  Wales).  Bees,  butterflies  and  swallows  were  in 
the  air;  the  distant  lowing  of  kine,  the  scent  of  the  roses, 
the  clatter  in  the  kitchen  where  Nannie  aided  by  another 
female  servant  was  preparing  supper,  even  the  barking  of 
a  watch  dog,  aware  that  something  unusual  was  going  on, 
completed  the  impression  of  the  blissful  countr}^side. 
"  What  a  paradise  you  live  in!  How  could  I  have  left 
it?" 

"  Ay,  dear  lad ;  I  doubt  not  it  looks  strange  and  new 
to  you  since  you've  been  in  South  Africa  and  London. 
But  it'll  soon  seem  homelike  enough.  And  now  you'll 
like  to  see  your  room,  and  have  a  wash  before  supper. 
Tom,  the  gardener,  shall  take  in  your  bicycle  and  give  i-t 
a  rub  over.  I've  still  got  the  old  one  here  in  the  coach- 
house which  you  left  behind.  Tom's  new,  since  you  left. 
He's  not  so  clever  with  the  bees  as  your  old  friend  Evan 
was,  but  he's  a  steadier  lad.  I  fear  me  Evan  led  you 
into  some  of  your  scrapes.  The  fault  was  partly  mine. 
I  shouldn't  have  let  you  run  wild  so  much,  but  I  was  so 
wrapped  up  in  my  studies  —  Well,  well !  " 

David  was  careful  to  play  his  part  sufficiently  to  say 
when  shown  into  his  old  bedroom,  "  Just  the  same, 
father ;  scarcely  a  bit  altered  —  but  isn't  the  bed  moved 
—  to  another  place?" 

"You're  right,  my  boy  —  Ah!  your  memory  can't 
be  as  bad  as  you  pretend.  Yes,  we  moved  it  there, 
Bridget  and  I,  because  the  Archdeacon  came  once  to 
stay  and  complained  of  the  draught  from  the  win- 
dow." 

"The  deuce  he  did!"  said  David.  "Well,  /  shan't 
complain  of  anything." 

His  father  left  him  and  he  then  proceeded  to  lay  out 


56  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  small  store  of  things  he  had  brought  in  his  bicycle 
bag,  giving  special  prominence  to  the  shaving  tackle.  He 
had  just  finished  a  summary  toilet  when  there  was  a  tap 
on  the  door,  and,  suppressing  an  exclamation  of  impa- 
tience —  for  he  dearly  wanted  time  and  solitude  for  col- 
lected thought  —  he  admitted  Bridget. 

"Well,  Nannie,"  he  said,  "come  for  a  gossip?" 

"  Yess.     I  can  hardly  bear  to  take  my  eyes  off  you, 

for  you've  changed,  you  have  changed.     And  yet,  I  don't 

know  ?     You  don't  look  much  older  than  you  wass  when 

you    went    off    to    London   to    be    an    architect.     Your 

cheek "  (lifting  her  hand  and  stroking  it,  while  David 

tried  hard  not  to  wince)  "  Your  cheek's  as  soft  and 
smooth  as  it  was  then,  as  any  young  girl's.  Wherever 
you've  been,  the  world  has  not  treated  you  very  bad.  No 
one  would  have  dreamt  you'd  been  all  the  way  to  South 
Africa  to  them  Wild  Boars.  But  some  men  wear  won- 
derful well.  I  suppose  your  father  giv'  you  a  bit  of  a 
shock?  He's  much  older  looking;  and  he  wassn't  suf- 
fering, to  speak  of,  from  his  sight  when  you  went  away. 
And  now  he  can  hardly  see  to  read  even  with  his  new 
spectol.  Old  Doctor  Murgatroyd  can't  do  nothing  for 
him  —  Advises  him  to  go  to  see  some  Bristol  or  London 
eye-doctor.  But  after  you  seemed  to  disappear  in  Africa 
he  had  no  heart  for  trying  to  get  his  sight  back.  He'd  sit 
for  hours  doing  nothing  but  think  and  talk,  all  about 
old  Welsh  times,  or  Bible  times.  Of  course  he  knows 
hiss  services  by  heart;  hiss  only  job  wass  with  the  Les- 
sons. .  .  .  But  you  see,  he'd  often  only  have  me  and  the 
girl  and  Tom  in  church.  There's  a  new  preacher  up  at 
Little  Bethel  that's  drawn  all  the  village  folk  to  hear  him. 
But  your  father'll  be  a  different  man  now  —  you  see, 
he'll  be  like  a  boy  again.  And  if  you  could  stay  long 
enough,  you  might  take  him  to  Bristol  —  or  Clifton  I 
think  it  wass  —  to  see  if  they  could  do  anything  about 
his  eyes.  .  .  . 


PONTYSTRAD  57 

"  The  past's  the  past  and  we  aren't  going  to  say  no 
more  about  it,  and  now  you've  turned  over  a  new  leaf 
—  somehow  I  can't  feel  you're  the  same  person  —  don't 
go  worrying  yourself  about  that  slut  Jenny.  She's  all 
right.  After  your  baby  was  born  at  her  mother's,  she 
went  into  service  at  Llanelly  and  there  she  met  a  miner 
who's  at  work  on  the  new  coal  mine  in  Gower.  He 
wasn't  a  bad  s'ort  of  chap  and  when  he'd  heard  her  story 
he  said  for  a  matter  of  twenty  pound  he'd  marry  her  and 
take  over  her  baby.  So  your  father  paid  the  twenty 
pounds,  and  if  she'll  only  keep  straight  she'll  be  none  the 
worse  for  what's  happened.  I  always  said  it  wass  my 
fault.  It  wass  the  year  I  had  to  go  away  to  my  sister, 
and  your  father  had  to  go  to  St.  David's,  and  after  all, 
if  it  hadn't  'a-been  you,  it  'd  'a-been  young  Evan.  Why 
there's  bin  some  girls  in  the  village  have  had  two  and 
even  three  babies  before  they  settled  down  and  got  mar- 
ried. Now  we  must  dish  up  supper.  I've  given  you 
lots  and  lots  of  pancakes  and  the  cream  and  honey  you 
wass  always  so  fond  of  —  you  bad  boy "  She  ven- 
tured a  kiss  on  the  smooth  cheek  of  her  nursling  and 
heavily  descended  the  stairs. 

David  had  a  very  bad  night,  because  to  please  his  old 
nurse  he  had  eaten  too  many  of  her  pancakes  with  cream 
and  honey.  In  fact,  he  had  at  last  to  tip-toe  down 
through  a  sleeping  house  cautiously  to  let  himself  out 
and  relieve  his  feelings  by  pacing  the  verandah  till  the 
nausea  passed  off.  After  that  he  lay  long  awake  trying 
to  size  up  the  situation.  He  got  his  thoughts  at  last  into 
some  such  shape  as  this  : — 

"  It's  clear  I  was  a  regular  young  rake  before  I  was 
sent  up  to  London  to  be  Praddy's  pupil.  Apparently  I 
seduced  the  housemaid  or  kitchenmaid  —  my  father's  es- 
tablishment seems  to  consist  of  Nannie  who  is  house- 
keeper and  cook,  and  a  maid  who  does  housework  and 


58  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

helps  in  the  kitchen and  this  unfortunate  girl  who 

fell  a  prey  to  my  solicitations  —  or  more  likely  misled 
me  —  afterwards  gave  birth  to  a  child  attributed  either 
to  my  fatherhood  or  the  gardener's.  But  the  matter  has 
been  hushed  up  by  a  payment  of  twenty  pounds  and  the 
girl  is  now  married  and  respectable  and  ought  to  give 
no  further  trouble.  I  suppose  that  was  a  climax  of 
naughtiness  on  my  part  and  the  main  reason  why  I  was 
sent  away.  The  two  people  who  matter  most  have  re- 
ceived me  without  doubt  or  cjuestion,  but  the  one  to  be 
wary  about  is  the  old  nurse,  whose  very  affection  makes 
her  inconveniently  inquisitive.  Mem.  get  up  and  lock  my 
door,  or  else  she  may  come  in  with  hot  water  or  some- 
thing in  the  morning  and  take  me  by  surprise. 

"  The  original  David  is  evidently  dead  and  well  out 
of  the  way.  There  can  be  no  harm  in  my  taking  his 
place,  at  any  rate  for  a  few  years :  it  may  give  the  old 
man  new  life  and  genuine  happiness,  for  I  shall  play  my 
part  as  a  good  son,  and  certainly  shall  cost  him  nothing. 
I'll  begin  by  taking  him  to  an  oculist  and  finding  out  what 
is  Avrong  with  his  eyes.  .  .  .  Probably  only  cataract. 
It  may  be  possible  to  effect  a  cure  and  he  can  then  finish 
his  book  on  the  history  of  Glamorganshire  from  earliest 
times.  Must  remember,  by  the  bye,  that  the  Welsh 
change  most  of  the  old  ni's  into  f's  and  that  this  coun- 
try is  called  Forganwg,  with  the  zv  pronounced  like  oo, 
and  the  /  like  v.  Must  learn  some  Welsh.  What  a 
nuisance.  But  nothing  is  worth  doing  if  it  isn't  done 
well.  If  I  can  keep  this  deception  up  this  would  be  a 
jolly  place  to  come  to  for  occasional  holidays,  and  I 
simply  couldn't  have  a  better  reference  to  respectability, 
sex  and  station  with  the  benchers  of  Lincoln's  Inn  than 
'  my  father,'  the  Revd.  Howel  Williams,  Vicar  of  Ponty- 
strad.  They'll  probably  want  a  second  or  a  third  refer- 
ence. Can  I  rely  on  Praddy?  Is  it  possible  I  might 
work  up  my  acquaintance  with  that  professor  whom  I 


PONTYSTRAD  59 

met  in  the  train?  I'll  see.  Perhaps  I  could  attend  classes 
of  his  if  he  lectures  in  London." 

Then  the  plotting  David  fell  asleep  at  last  and  woke 
to  hear  the  loud  tapping  on  his  door  at  eight  o'clock,  of 
Bridget,  rather  surprised  to  find  the  door  locked,  but 
entering  (when  he  had  garbed  himself  in  his  Norfolk 
jacket  and  opened  the  door),  with  hot  water  for  shaving 
and  a  cup  of  tea. 

It  was  a  hot  July  morning,  and  while  he  dressed,  the 
southern  breeze  came  in  through  the  open  window 
scented  by  the  roses  and  the  lemon  verbena  growing 
against  the  wall.  His  father  was  pacing  up  and  down 
the  hall  and  the  verandah  restlessly  awaiting  him,  fearing 
lest  the  whole  episode  of  the  day  before  might  not  have 
been  one  of  his  waking  dreams.  His  failing  sight  made 
reading  almost  a  torture  and  writing  more  a  matter  of 
feeling  than  visual  perception.  Time  therefore  hung 
■wearisomely  on  his  hands ;  Bridget  was  not  a  good  reader, 
besides  being  too  busy  a  housekeeper  to  have  time  for  it. 
Had  David  really  returned  to  him?  Would  he  some- 
times read  aloud  and  sometimes  write  his  letters,  or  even 
the  finish  of  his  History?     Too  good  to  be  true! 

But  there  was  David  coming  down  the  stairs,  greeting 
him  with  tender  affection.  "  Read  and  write  for  you, 
father?  Of  course!  But  before  I  go  back  to  London  — 
and  unfortunately  I  must  go  back  early  in  August  —  I'm 
going  to  take  you  to  see  an  oculist  —  Bristol  or  Clifton 
perhaps  —  and  get  your  sight  restored." 

After  breakfast,  however,  the  father  decided  he  must 
take  David  round  the  village,  to  see  and  be  seen.  David 
was  not  very  anxious  to  go,  but  as  the  Revd.  Howel  looked 
disappointed  he  gave  in. 

It  had  to  be  got  over  some  time  or  other.  So  they 
first  visited  the  church,  a  building  in  the  form  of  a  cross, 
with  an  imposing  battlemented  tower.  Here  David  asked 
to  inspect  the  registers  and  found  therein  (while  the  old 


6o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

gentleman  silently  prayed  or  sat  in  mute  thankfulness  in 
a  sunny  corner)  —  the  record  of  his  father's  marriage 
to  Mary  Vavasour  twenty-six  years  before  (Mary  was 
twenty-three  and  the  Revd.  Howel  forty  at  the  time) 
and  of  his  own  baptism  two  years  afterwards. 

Then  issuing  from  the  church,  father  and  son  walked 
through  the  village,  the  father  pointing  out  the  changes 
for  better  or  worse  that  had  taken  place  in  four  years, 
and  not  noticing  the  vagueness  of  his  son's  memories  of 
either  persons  or  features  in  the  landscape.  The  village, 
like  most  Welsh  villages,  was  of  white-washed  cottages, 
slate-roofed,  but  it  was  embowered  with  that  luxuriance 
of  foliage  and  flowers  which  makes  Glamorganshire  — 
out  of  sight  of  the  coal-mining  —  seem  an  earthly  para- 
dise. Every  now  and  then  the  Revd.  Howel  would  nudge 
his  son  and  say :  "  That  man  who  spoke  was  old  Goronwy, 
as  big  a  scoundrel  now  as  he  was  five  years  ago,"  or  he 
would  introduce  David  to  a  villager  of  whom  he  thought 
more  favourably.  If  she  were  a  young  woman  she  gen- 
erally smirked  and  looked  sideways;  if  a  man  he  grunted 
out  a  Welsh  greeting  or  only  gave  a  nod  of  surly  recog- 
nition. Several  professed  fluent  recognition  but  some 
said  in  Welsh  "  he  wasn't  a  bit  like  the  Mr.  David  they 
had  known."  Whereupon  the  Revd.  Howel  laughed  and 
said :  "  Wait  till  you  have  been  out  to  South  Africa 
fighting  for  your  king  and  country  and  see  if  that  doesn't 
change  you! " 

The  visit  to  the  Clifton  oculist  resulted  in  a  great 
success.  The  oculist  after  two  or  three  days'  prepara- 
tion in  a  nursing  home  performed  the  operation  and  ad- 
vised David  then  to  leave  his  father  for  a  few  days 
(promising  if  any  unfavourable  symptoms  supervened  he 
would  telegraph)  so  that  he  might  pass  the  time  in  sleep 
as  much  as  possible,  and  with  no  mental  stimulation. 
During  this  interval  David  transferred  himself  and  his 
bicycle  to  Swansea,  and  thence  visited  the  Gower  caves 


PONTYSTRAD  6i 

where  he  ran  up  against  Rossiter  once  more  and  spent 
delightful  hours  being  inducted  into  palaeontology  by 
Rossiter  and  his  companions.  Then  back  to  —  by  con- 
trast—  boresome  Clifton  (except  for  its  Zoological  Gar- 
dens). After  another  week  his  father  was  well  enough 
to  be  escorted  home.  In  another  fortnight  he  might 
be  able  to  use  his  eyes,  and  soon  after  that  would  be  able 
to  read  and  write  —  in  moderation. 

But  David  could  not  wait  to  see  his  intervention 
crowned  with  complete  success.  He  must  keep  faith  with 
Honoria  who  would  be  wanting  a  long  holiday  in  Switzer- 
land; and  their  joint  business  must  not  suffer  by  his  ab- 
sence from  London.  There  were,  indeed,  times  when 
the  peace  and  comfort  and  beauty  of  Pbntystrad  got  hold 
of  him  and  he  asked  himself:  ''Why  not  settle  down 
here  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  put  aside  other  ambitions, 
attempt  no  more  than  this  initial  fraud,  leave  the  hateful 
world  wherein  women  had  only  three  chances  to  men's 
seven."  Then  there  would  arise  once  more  fierce  ambi- 
tion, the  resolve  to  avenge  Vivien  Warren  for  her  handi- 
caps, the  desire  to  keep  tryst  with  Honoria  and  to  enjoy 
more  of  Rossiter's  society.  Besides,  he  ran  a  constant 
risk  of  discovery  under  the  affectionate  but  puzzled  in- 
spection of  the  old  nurse.  In  her  mind,  residence 
amongst  the  "  Wild  Boars,"  service  in  an  army,  travel  and 
adventure  generally  during  an  absence  of  five  years,  as 
well  as  emergence  from  adolescence  into  manhood,  ac- 
counted for  much  change  in  physical  appearance,  but  not 
sufficiently  for  the  extraordinary  change  in  morale:  the 
contrast  between  the  vicious,  untidy,  selfish,  insolent  boy 
that  had  gone  off  to  London  with  ill-concealed  glee 
in  1896  and  this  grave-mannered,  polite,  considerate, 
pleasant-voiced  young  man  who  had  already  managed  to 
find  good  employment  in  London  before  he  revealed  him- 
self anew  to  his  delighted  father. 

These  doubts  David  read  in  Nannie's  mind.     But  he 


62  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

would  not  give  them  time  and  chance  to  become  more 
precise  and  formulated.  Gradually  she  would  become 
used  to  the  seeming  miracle.  In  the  meantime  he  would 
return  to  London,  and  if  his  father's  recovery  was  com- 
plete he  would  not  revisit  "  home  "  till  Christmas.  As 
soon  as  he  was  able  to  write,  his  father  would  forward 
him  the  copy  of  his  birth-certificate,  and  he  would  like- 
wise answer  in  the  sense  agreed  upon  any  letters  of  ref- 
erence or  enquiry :  would  state  the  apprenticeship  to  archi- 
tecture with  Praed  A.R.A.,  and  then  the  impulse  to  go 
out  to  South  Africa,  the  slight  wound  —  David  insisted 
it  was  slight,  a  fuss  about  nothing,  because  he  had  en- 
c|uired  about  necrosis  of  the  jaw  and  realized  that  even 
if  he  had  recovered  it  would  have  left  indisputable  marks 
on  face  and  throat.  In  fact  there  were  so  many  compli- 
cations involved  in  an  escape  from  the  Boers,  only  to  be 
justified  under  the  code  of  honour  prevailing  in  war  time, 
that  he  would  rather  his  father  said  little  or  nothing 
about  South  Africa  but  left  him  to  explain  all  that.  A 
point  of  view  readily  grasped  by  the  Revd.  Howel,  who 
to  get  such  a  son  back  would  even  have  not  thought  too 
badly  of  desertion  —  and  the  negative  letters  of  the  War 
Office  said  nothing  of  that. 

So  early  in  September,  after  the  most  varied,  anxious, 
successful  six  weeks  in  his  life  —  so  far  —  David  Vava- 
sour Williams  returned  to  Fig  Tree  Court,  Inner  Temple. 


CHAPTER  V 

READING    FOR    THE    BAR 

IT  had  been  a  hot,  windless  day  in  London,  in  early 
September.  Though  summer  was  in  full  swing  in  the 
country  without  a  hint  of  autumn,  the  foliage  in  the 
squares  and  gardens  of  the  Inns  of  Court  was  already 
seared  and  a  little  shrivelled.  The  privet  hedges  were 
almost  black  green ;  and  the  mould  in  the  dismal  borders 
that  they  screened  looked  as  though  it  had  never  known 
rain  or  hose  water  and  as  if  it  could  no  more  grow  bright- 
tinted  flowers  than  the  asbestos  of  a  gas  stove  which  it 
resembled  in  consistency  and  colour.  It  was  now  an 
evening,  ending  one  of  those  days  which  are  peculiarly 
disheartening  to  a  Londoner  returned  from  a  long  stay  in 
the  depths  of  the  country  —  a  country  which  has  hills  and 
streams,  ferny  hollows,  groups  of  birches,  knolls  sur- 
mounted with  pines,  meadows  of  lush,  emerald-green 
grass,  full-foliaged  elms,  twisted  oaks,  orchards  hung 
with  reddening  apples,  red  winding  lanes  between  un- 
checked hedges,  blue  mountains  in  the  far  distance,  and 
the  glimpse  of  a  river  or  of  ponds  large  enough  to  be 
called  a  mere  or  even  a  lake.  The  exhausted  London  to 
which  David  Williams  had  returned  a  few  days  previously 
had  lost  a  few  thousands  of  its  West-end  and  City  popu- 
lation—  just,  in  fact,  most  of  its  interesting  if  unlikable 
folk,  its  people  who  mattered,  its  insolent  spoilt  darlings 
whom  you  liked  to  recognize  in  the  Carlton  atrium,  in 
Hyde  Park,  in  a  box  at  the  theatre :  yet  the  frowsy, 
worthy  millions  were  there  all  the  same.  The  air  of  its 
then  smelly  streets  was  used  up  and  had  the  ammoniac 

03 


64  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

strench  of  the  stable.  It  was  a  weary  London.  The 
London  actors  had  not  returned  from  Cornwall  and 
Switzerland.  Provincial  companies  enjoyed  —  a  little 
anxiously  owing  to  uncertain  receipts  at  the  box  office 
—  a  brief  license  on  the  boards  of  famous  play-houses. 
The  newspapers  had  exhausted  the  stunt  of  the  silly  sea- 
son and  were  at  their  flattest  and  most  yawn-provoking. 
The  South  African  War  had  reached  its  dreariest 
stage.  ,  .  . 

Bertie  Adams  on  this  close  September  evening  had  out- 
stayed the  other  employes  of  Frascr  and  Warren  in  their 
fifth  floor  office  at  No.  88-90  Chancery  Lane.  He  had 
remained  after  office  hours  to  do  a  little  work,  a  little 
"  self -improvement  ";  and  he  was  just  about  to  close  the 
outer  office  and  leave  the  key  with  the  housekeeper,  when 
the  lift  came  surging  up  and  out  of  it  stepped  a  young 
man  in  a  summer  suit  and  a  bowler  hat  who,  to  Bertie's 
astonishment,  not  only  dashed  straight  at  the  door  of  the 
partners'  room,  but  opened  its  Yale  lock  with  a  latch-key 
as  though  long  accustomed  to  do  so.  "  But,  sir !  .  .  .  ." 
exclaimed  the  junior  clerk  (his  promotion  to  that  rank 
had  tacitly  dated  from  Vivie  Warren's  departure).  "  It's 
all  right,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I'm  Mr.  David  Williams 
and  I've  come  to  draw  up  some  notes  for  Mrs.  Claridge. 
I  dare  say  Miss  Eraser  has  told  you  I  should  work  in  the 
office  every  now  and  then  whilst  my  cousin  —  Miss  War- 
ren, you  know  —  is  away.  You  needn't  wait,  though 
you  can  close  the  outer  office  before  you  go;  and,  by  the 
bye,  you  might  fetch  me  Who's  Who  for  the  present 
year."     All  this  was  said  a  little  breathlessly. 

Bertie  brought  the  volume,  then  only  half  the  size  of 
its  present  bulk,  because  it  lacked  our  new  nobility  and 
gave  no  heed  to  your  favourite  recreation.  D.  V.  Wil- 
liams stood  in  the  yellow  light  of  the  west  window,  read- 
ing a  letter.  ...  "  Cousin  ?  No !  Twin  brother,  per- 
haps; but   had   she  one?  .  .  ."    mused   Bertie  .  .  .  and 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  65 

then,  that  never-to-be-forgotten  voice  ..."  Here's 
'Oo's  Oo  —  er — Hoo's  Hoo,  I  mean.  .  .  .  Miss  .  .  ." 
He  only  added  the  last  word  as  by  some  sub-conscious  in- 
stinct. 

"  Mister  Williams,"  said  Vivien-David-Warren  Wil- 
liams, facing  him  with  resolute  eyes.  "  Be  quite  clear 
about  that,  Adams;  David  Vavasour  Williams,  Miss 
Warren's  cousin." 

"  Indeed  I  will  be.  Miss  .  .  .  Mister  .  .  .  er  .  .  . 
Sir  .  .  ."  said  the  transfigured  Bertie  (his  brain  voice 
saying  over  and  over  again  in  ecstasy  ...*'/  tumble 
to  it!  /  tumble  to  it!").  And  then  again  "Indeed  I 
will,  Mr.  Williams.  I'm  a  bit  stupidlike  this  evenin'  .  .  . 
readin'  too  much.  .  .  .  May  I  stay  and  help  you.  Sir? 
I'm  pretty  quick  on  the  typewriter,  Miss  Warren  may 
have  told  you  .  .  .  Sir  .  .  .  and  I  ain't  —  I  mean  — 
/  am  not  —  half  bad  with  me  shorthand.  .  .  .  You 
know  —  I  mean,  she  would  know  I'd  joined  them  evenin' 
classes.  .  .  ." 

"  Thank  you,  Adams;  but  if  you  have  joined  the  eve- 
ning classes  you  oughtn't  to  interrupt  your  attendance 
there.  I  can  quite  manage  here  alone  and  you  need  not 
be  afraid :  I  shall  leave  everything  properly  closed.  You 
could  give  up  the  key  of  the  outer  office  as  you  go  out. 
You  may  often  find  me  at  work  here  after  office  hours, 
but  that  need  not  disturb  you  .  .  .  and  I  need  hardly 
say,  after  all  Miss  Eraser  and  Miss  Warren  have  told 
me  about  you,  I  rely  on  you  to  be  at  all  times  thoroughly 
discreet  and  not  likely  to  discuss  the  work  of  this  firm 
or  my  share  in  it  with  any  one?  "... 

"  Indeed  you  may  .  .  .  ]\Ir.  Williams  .  .  .  indeed 
vou  may.  .  .  .  Oh!  I'm  so  happy.  .  .  .  Good-night 
i'  .  .  Sir!" 

And  Adams's  heart  was  too  full  for  attendance  at  a 
lecture  on  Roman  law.  Ele  went  off  instead  to  the 
play.     He  himself  belonged  now  to  the  world  of  romance. 


66  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

He  knew  of  things  —  and  wild  horses  and  red-hot 
tweezers  should  not  tear  the  knowledge  from  him,  or 
make  him  formulate  his  deductions  —  he  knew  of  things 
as  amazing,  as  prodigal  of  developments  as  anything  in 
the  problem  play  enacted  beyond  the  pit  and  the  stalls ; 
he  was  the  younger  brother  of  Herbert  Waring  and  the 
comrade  of  Jessie  Joseph:  at  that  moment  deceiving  the 
sleuth  hounds  of  Stage  law  by  parading  in  her  fiance's 
evening  dress  and  going  to  prison  for  his  sake. 

Beryl  Claridge  had  taken  up  much  of  Vivie  Warren's 
work  on  the  ist  of  August  in  that  year,  while  Honoria 
Eraser  was  touring  in  Switzerland.  Miss  Mullet  and 
Miss  Steynes  were  replaced  (Steynes  staying  on  a  little 
later  to  initiate  the  new-comers)  by  two  young  women  so 
commonplace  yet  such  efficient  machines  that  their  names 
are  not  worth  hunting  up  or  inventing.  HI  have  to 
refer  to  them  I  will  call  them  Miss  A.  and  Miss  B. 

Beryl  Claridge  was  closely  scanned  by  Bertie  Adams, 
and  frequently  compared  in  his  mind  with  the  absent 
and  idealized  Vivie.  He  decided  that  although  she  was 
shrewd  and  clever  and  very  good-looking,  he  did  not  like 
her.  She  smoked  too  many  cigarettes  for  1901.  She 
had  her  curly  hair  "  bobbed  "  (though  the  term  was  not 
invented  then).  She  put  up  her  feet  too  high  and  too 
often;  so  much  so  that  the  scandalized  Bertie  saw  she 
wore  black  knickerbockers  and  no  petticoats  under  her 
smart  "  tailor-made."  She  snapped  your  head  off,  was 
short,  sharp  and  insolent,  joked  too  much  with  the 
spectacled  women  clerks  (who  became  her  willing  slaves)  ; 
then  would  ask  Bertie  about  his  best  girl  and  tell  him  he'd 
got  jolly  good  teeth,  a  good  biceps  and  quite  a  nice  begin- 
ning of  a  moustache. 

But  she  was  a  worker:  no  doubt  of  that!  Of  course, 
in  the  dead  season  there  were  not  many  clients  to  shock 
or  to  win  over  by  her  nonchalant  manners,  only  a  few 
women  who  required  advice  as  to  houses,  stocks,  and 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  67 

shares,  law,  or  private  enquiries  as  to  the  good  faith  of 
husbands  or  fiances.  Such  as  found  their  way  up  in 
the  lift  were  a  little  disappointed  at  seeing  Beryl  in 
Vivie's  chair  or  at  not  being  received  by  their  old  friend 
Honoria  Eraser.  But  Beryl  was  too  good  a  business 
woman  to  put  them  off  with  any  license  of  speech  or  man- 
ners. Eor  the  rest  she  spent  August  and  early  Septem- 
ber in  "  mugging  up  "  the  firm's  business.  Although  deep 
down  in  her  curious  little  heart,  under  all  her  affectation 
of  hardness  and  insolent  disdain  of  public  or  family  opin- 
ion she  firmly  loved  her  architect  and  the  children  she 
had  borne  him,  she  desired  quite  as  passionately  to  be 
self-supporting,  to  earn  a  sufficient  income  of  her  own, 
to  be  dependent  on  no  one.  She  might  have  her  passing 
caprices  and  her  loose  and  flippant  mode  of  talking,  but 
she  wasn't  going  to  be  a  failure,  a  cadger,  a  parasite,  a 
"  fallen  "  woman.  She  fully  realized  that  in  England 
no  woman  has  fallen  who  is  self-supporting,  whose  in- 
come meets  her  expenses  and  who  pays  her  way.  Given 
those  guarantees,  all  else  that  she  does  which  is  not  ac- 
tually criminal  is  eventually  put  down  to  mere  eccentricity. 
So  Honoria's  offer  and  Honoria's  business  provided 
her  with  a  most  welcome  opening.  She  realized  the  op- 
portunities that  lay  before  this  Woman's  Office  for  Gen- 
eral Inquiries,  established  in  the  closing  years  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  —  this  business  that  before  Woman's  en- 
franchisement nibbled  discreetly  at  the  careers  and  the 
openings  for  profit-making  hitherto  rigidly  reserved  for 
Man.  She  wasn't  going  to  let  Honoria  down.  Honoria, 
she  realized,  was  in  herself  equivalent  to  many  thousands 
of  pounds  in  capital.  Her  reputation  was  flawless.  She 
was  known  to  and  esteemed  by  a  host  of  women  of  the 
upper  middle  class.  Her  Cambridge  reputation  for 
learning,  her  eventual  inheritance  of  eighty  thousand 
pounds  were  unexpressed  reasons  for  many  a  woman  of 
good  standing  preferring  to  confide  her  affairs  to  the 


6S  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

judgment  of  Frascr  and  Warren^  in  preference  to  dealing 
with  male  legal  advisers,  male  land  agents,  men  on  the 
Stock  Exchange,  men  in  house  property  business. 

So  Beryl  became  in  most  respects  a  source  of  strength 
to  Honoria  Eraser,  deprived  for  a  time  of  the  overt  co- 
operation of  her  junior  partner. 

Beryl  in  the  first  few  weeks  of  her  stay  evinced  small 
interest  in  the  departure  of  Vivien  Warren  and  her  rea- 
sons for  going  abroad.  She  had  a  scheme  of  her  own 
in  which  her  architect  would  take  a  prominent  part,  for 
providing  women  —  authoresses,  actresses,  or  the  wives 
of  the  newly  enriched  —  with  week-end  cottages;  the  de- 
sire for  which  was  born  with  the  Twentieth  century  and 
fostered  by  the  invention  of  motors  and  bicycles.  Cases 
before  the  firm  for  opinions  on  intricate  legal  problems 
Beryl  was  advised  to  place  before  the  consideration  of  one 
of  Honoria's  friends,  a  law  student,  Mr,  D.  V.  Williams, 
who  would  shortly  be  back  from  his  holiday  and  who 
had  agreed  to  look  in  at  the  office  from  time  to  time  and 
go  through  such  papers  as  were  set  aside  for  him  to  read. 
Beryl  had  remarked  —  without  any  intention  behind  it 
—  on  seeing  some  of  his  notes  initialled  V.W.  that  it 
was  rum  he  should  have  the  same  initials  as  that  Vivie 
girl  whom  she  remembered  at  Newnham  .  ,  .  who  was 
"  so  silent  and  standoffish  and  easily  shocked."  But  she 
noticed  later  that  when  Mr.  Williams  got  to  work  his 
initials  were  really  three  and  not  two  —  D.V.W.  One 
thing  with  the  other :  her  departure  from  the  office  at 
the  regular  closing  hour  —  five  —  so  that  she  might  see 
her  babies  before  they  were  put  to  bed ;  Williams's  habit 
of  coming  to  work  after  six ;  kept  them  from  meeting 
till  the  October  of  1901.  When  they  did  meet  after 
Honoria's  return  from  Switzerland,  Beryl  scanned  the 
law  student  critically ;  decided  he  was  rather  nice-looking 
but  very  pre-occupied ;  perhaps  engaged  to  some  girl 
whose  parents  objected;  rather  mysterious,  quand  meme; 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  69 

she  had  heard  some  one  say  this  Mr.  David  WilHams  was 
a  cousin  or  something  of  Vivie  Warren  .  .  .  what  if  he 
were  in  love  with  Vivie  and  she  had  gone  away  because 
she  had  some  fad  or  other  about  not  wanting  to  marry  ? 
Well !  All  this  could  be  looked  into  some  other  time, 
if  it  were  worth  bothering  about  at  all.  Or  could  Wil- 
liams be  spoony  on  Honoria?  After  her  money?  He 
was  much  younger  —  evidently  —  but  young  men  adored 
ripe  women,  and  young  girls  idolized  elderly  soldiers. 
C'ctait  a  voir  (Beryl  ever  since  she  had  been  to  Paris 
on  a  stolen  honeymoon  with  the  architect  liked  saying 
things  to  herself  in  French). 

Towards  the  end  of  October,  David  received  at  Fig 
Tree  Court  a  letter  from  his  father  in  Glamorganshire. 

Pontystrad  Vicarage, 

October  20,  1901. 

My  dear  Son, — 

The  improvement  in  my  sight  continues.  I  can 
now  read  a  little  every  day,  by  daylight,  without  pain  or 
fatigue,  and  write  letters.  I  feel  I  owe  you  a  long  one; 
but  I  shall  write  a  portion  each  day  and  not  try  my  eyes 
unduly. 

I  am  glad  to  know  you  are  now  settled  down  in  cham- 
bers at  Fig  Tree  Court  in  the  Temple  and  have  begun 
your  studies  for  the  Bar.  You  could  not  have  taken 
up  a  finer  profession.  What  seems  to  me  so  wonder- 
ful is  that  you  should  be  able  to  earn  your  living  at  the 
same  time  and  be  no  charge  on  me.  I  accept  your  as- 
surances that  you  need  no  support ;  but  never  forget,  my 
dear  Son,  that  if  you  do,  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  help. 
You  sowed  your  wild  oats  —  perhaps  we  both  exagger- 
ated the  sins  of  the  wild  years  —  at  any  rate  you  have 
made  a  noble  reparation.  What  a  splendid  school  the 
Colonies  must  be!  What  a  difference  between  the 
David  who  left  me  five  years  ago  for  Mr.  Praed's  studio 


70  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

and  the  David  who  returned  to  me  last  summer!  I  can 
never  be  sufficiently  thankful  to  Almighty  God  for  the 
change  He  has  wrought  in  you !  No  lip  religion,  but  a 
change  of  heart.  I  presume  you  explained  everything 
to  the  Colonial  Office  after  you  got  back  to  London  and 
that  you  are  now  free  to  take  up  a  civil  career?  The 
people  out  there  never  sent  me  any  further  information; 
but  the  other  day  one  of  my  letters  to  you  (written  after 
I  had  received  the  sad  news)  returned  to  me,  with  the 
information  that  the  hospital  you  were  in  had  been  cap- 
tured by  the  Boers  and  that  you  could  not  be  traced.  I 
enclose  it.  You  can  now  finish  up  the  story  yourself  and 
let  the  authorities  know  how  you  got  away  and  returned 
home. 

The  other  day  that  impudent  baggage  Jenny  Gorlais 
came  and  asked  to  see  me  .  .  .  she  said  her  husband  was 
out  of  work  and  refused  to  give  her  enough  money  to* 
provide  for  all  her  children,  that  he  had  advised  her  to 
apply  to  you  for  the  maintenance  of  your  son!  Relying 
on  what  you  had  told  me  I  sent  for  Bridget  and  we  both 
told  her  we  had  made  every  enquiry  and  now  refused 
absolutely  to  believe  in  her  stories  of  five  years  ago  — 
that  we  were  sure  you  were  not  the  father  of  her  eldest 
child.  Bridget,  for  example,  believed  the  postman  was 
its  father.  Jenny  burst  into  tears,  and  as  she  did  not 
persist  in  her  claim  my  heart  was  moved,  and  I  gave 
her  ten  shillings,  but  told  her  pretty  plainly  that  if  she 
ever  made  such  a  claim  again  I  should  go  to  the  police. 
You  should  have  heard  Bridget  defending  you !  Such  a 
champion.  If  you  want  a  witness  to  character  for  your 
references  you  should  call  her!  She  is  loud  in  your 
praise. 

October  22. 
There  is  one  thing  I  want  to  tell  you ;  and  it  is  easier 
to  write  it  than  say  it.     Your  mother  did  not  die  when 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  71 

you  were  three  years  old  —  much  worse:  she  left  me  — 
ran  away  with  an  engineer  who  was  tracing  out  the 
branch  railway.  He  seemed  a  nice  young  fellow  and  I 
had  him  often  up  at  the  Vicarage,  and  that  was  the  way 
he  repaid  my  hospitality !  He  wrote  to  me  a  year  after- 
wards asking  me  to  divorce  her.  As  though  a  Clergy- 
man of  the  Church  of  England  could  do  such  a  thing!  I 
had  offered  to  take  her  back  —  not  then  —  it  would  have 
been  a  mockery  —  but  by  putting  advertisements  into  the 
South  Wales  papers.  But  after  her  paramour's  letter  — 
which  I  did  not  answer  —  I  never  heard  any  more  about 
her.  .  .  . 

["  Damn  it  all,"  said  David  to  himself  at  this  juncture 
of  the  letter  —  he  was  training  himself  to  swear  in  a 
moderate,  gentlemanly  way — ''Damn  it  all!  Whatever 
I  do,  it  seems  I  cannot  come  from  altogether  respectable 
stock."  .  .  .] 

You  grew  up  therefore  without  a  mother's  care,  though 
good  Bridget  did  her  best.  When  you  were  a  child  I  fear 
I  rather  neglected  you.  I  was  so  disappointed  and  em- 
bittered that  I  sought  consolation  in  the  legends  of  our 
beloved  country  and  in  Scriptural  exegesis.  You  were 
rather  a  naughty  boy  at  Swansea  Grammar  School  and 
somewhat  of  a  scamp  at  Malvern  College  —  Well !  we 
won't  go  over  all  that  again.  I  quite  understand  your 
reticence  about  the  past.  Once  again  I  think  the  blame 
was  mine  as  much  as  yours.  I  ought  to  have  interested 
myself  more  in  your  pursuits  and  games  .  .  .  what  a 
pity,  by  the  bye,  that  you  seem  to  have  lost  your  gift  of 
drawing  and  painting!  I  do  remember  how  at  one  time 
we  were  drawn  together  over  the  pld  Welsh  legends  and 
the  very  clever  drawings  you  made  of  national  heroes  and 
heroines  —  they  seemed  to  come  on  you  as  quite  a  sur- 
prise when  I  took  them  out  of  the  old  portfolio. 

But  about  your  mother  —  for  it  is  necessary  you  should 
know  all  I  can  tell  you  in  case  you  have  to  answer  ques- 


72  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

tions  as  to  your  parentage.  Your  mother's  -name  was, 
as  you  know,  Mary  Vavasour.  It  is  a  common  name 
in  South  Wales  though  it  seems  to  be  Norman  French. 
She  came  to  our  Pontystrad  school  as  a  teacher  in  1873. 
Her  father  was  something  to  do  with  mining  at  Merthyr. 
I  fell  in  love  with  her  —  she  had  a  sweet  face  —  and 
married  her  in  1874.  You  were  born  two  years  after- 
wards. Bridget  had  been  my  housekeeper  before  I  was 
married  and  I  asked  her  to  stay  on  lest  your  mother 
should  be  inexperienced  at  first  in  the  domestic  arts. 
They  never  got  on  well  together  and  when  Mary  had 
recovered  from  her  confinement  and  seemed  disposed  to 
take  up  housekeeping  I  sent  away  poor  Bridget  reluc- 
tantly and  only  took  her  back  after  your  mother's  flight. 
Bridget  was  a  second  mother  to  you  as  you  know,  though 
I  fear  you  never  showed  her  much  affection  till  these 
later  days. 

October  23. 
My  eyes  seem  to  be  improving  instead  of  getting  tired 
with  the  new  delights  of  reading  and  writing.  I  owe 
all  this  to  you  and  to  the  clever  oculist  at  Clifton.  Dr. 
Murgatroyd  from  Pontyffynon  looked  in  here  the  other 
day,  to  ask  about  your  return.  He  seemed  almost  to 
grudge  me  my  restored  sight  because  I  had  got  it  from 
other  people's  advice.  Said  he  could  have  advised  an 
operation  only  he  never  believed  my  heart  would  stand 
it.  When  I  told  him  they  had  mixed  the  anaesthetic  with 
oxygen  he  became  quite  angry  —  and  exclaimed  against 
these  new-fangled  notions.  But  I  must  not  use  up  my 
new  found  energy  writing  about  him.  I  want  to  finish 
my  letter  in  a  business-like  fashion  so  that  you  may  know 
all  that  is  necessary  to  be  known  about  yourself  and  your 
position.  You  may  have  at  any  moment  to  answer  ques- 
tions before  you  get  called  to  the  Bar,  and  with  your 
defective  memory  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  things  in  the  past 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  73 

are  becoming  clearer  to  you  —  I  am  sure  with  God's  grace 
you  will  wholly  recover  soon  from  the  effects  of  your 
wound  and  your  illness —  What  was  I  writing?  I 
meant  to  say  that  you  ought  to  know  the  main  facts  about 
your  family  and  your  position. 

I  was  an  only  son.  Your  grandfather  w^as  a  pros- 
perous farmer  and  auctioneer.  You  have  distant  cousins, 
Vaughans  and  Williamses,  and  some  others  living  at 
Shrewsbury  named  Price.  I  have  written  to  none  of 
them  about  your  return  because  they  never  evinced  any 
interest  in  me  or  my  concerns.  Your  mother's  people, 
her  Vavasour  relations  at  Cardiff  —  did  not  seem  to  me 
to  be  very  respectable,  though  her  father  w^as  a  well- 
educated  man  for  his  position.  He  died  —  I  heard  — in 
a  mine  accident. 

I  am  not  poorly  off  for  a  Welsh  clergyman.  My 
mother  —  a  Price  of  Ystrwy  —  w^anted  me  to  go  into  the 
Church  and  prevailed  on  your  grandfather  to  send  me 
first  to  Malvern  and  next  to  Cambridge.  It  was  at  Cam- 
bridge that  I  met  your  comrade's  father  —  Sam  Gard- 
ner, I  mean.  He  was  rather  wdld  in  his  college  days  and 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  cared  to  keep  up  with  him 
much  —  he  had  such  very  rowdy  friends.  My  mother 
died  while  I  was  at  Cambridge  and  in  his  later  years  your 
grandfather  married  again — -his  housekeeper  —  and 
rather  muddled  his  affairs,  because  at  one  time  he  was 

quite  well  off. 

After  I  was  ordained  he  purchased  for  me  the  advow- 
son  of  this  living.  All  that  came  to  me  from  his  estate, 
howe\'er,  was  a  sum  of  about  eleven  thousand  pounds. 
This  used  to  bring  me  in  about  five  hundred  pounds  a 
year,  and  in  addition  to  that  was  the  fluctuating  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  income  from  my  benefice.  I 
took  about  three  thousand  pounds  out  of  my  capital  to 
pay  the  debts  you  ran  up,  to  article  you  to  Mr.  Praed; 
and,  I  must  admit,  to  get  my  "  Tales  from  Taliessin  " 


74  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

and  "  Legends  of  the  Welsh  Saints  ''  privately  printed  at 
Cardiff.  I  am  afraid  I  wasted  much  good  money  on  the 
desire  to  see  my  Cymraeg  studies  in  print. 

Well :  there  I  am !  with  about  eight  or  nine  thousand 
pounds  to  leave.  I  have  not  altered  my  will  —  leaving 
it  all  to  you,  subject  to  an  annuity  of  £50  a  year  to  your 
faithful  Nannie.  I  was  projecting  an  alteration  in  case 
of  your  death,  when  you  most  happily  returned.  I  may 
live  another  ten  years  yet.  You  have  put  new  life  into 
me.  One  charge,  however,  I  was  going  to  have  laid  on 
you ;  while  you  were  with  me  I  could  not  bear  to  speak 
of  these  matters.  If  at  any  time  after  I'm  gone  you 
should  come  across  your  unhappy  mother  and  find  her  in 
distressed  circumstances,  I  bid  you  provide  for  her,  but 
how  much,  I  leave  entirely  to  your  judgment.  Mean- 
time, here  I  am  with  an  income  of  nearly  £700  a  year.  I 
live  very  simply,  as  you  see,  but  I  give  away  a  good  deal 
in  local  charity.  The  people  are  getting  better  wages 
now;  in  any  case  they  are  usually  most  ungrateful.  I 
feel  I  should  be  happier  if  I  diverted  some  of  this  alms- 
giving to  you.  You  must  find  this  preparatory  life  very 
expensive.  You  must  let  me  send  you  twenty-five  pounds 
every  half-year  for  pocket  money.  Here  is  a  cheque  on 
the  South  Wales  Bank  for  the  first  instalment.  And 
remember,  if  you  are  in  any  difficulty  about  your  career 
that  a  little  money  can  get  over  do  not  hesitate  to  apply 
to  me. 

Your  loving  father, 
HowEL  Vaughan  Williams. 

P.S.  1  have  taken  five  days  to  write  this  but  see  how 
steady  the  handwriting  is.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
look  on  my  own  handwriting  again.  And  I  feel  I  owe  it 
all  to  you!  I  also  forgot  in  the  body  of  the  letter  to  tell 
you  one  curious  thing.  You  know  we  are  here  on  the 
borders  of  an  interesting  vein  of  limestone  which  runs 
all  round  the  coal  beds.     I  dare  say  you  remember  as  a 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  75 

boy  of  fifteen  or  so  spraining  your  ankle  in  Griffith's 
Hole?  Well  Griffith's  Hole  turns  out  to  be  the  entrance 
into  a  wonderful  cave  in  the  limestone.  Hither  came  the 
other  day  a  party  of  scientific  men  who  think  that  majestic 
first  chapter  of  Genesis  to  be  a  Babylonian  legend!  It 
appears  they  discovered  or  thought  they  discovered  the 
remains  of  Ancient  man  in  Griffith's  Hole.  I  invited  them 
to  tea  at  the  Vicarage  and  amongst  them  was  a  very 
learned  gentleman  quite  as  wise  as  but  less  aggressive 
than  the  others.  He  was  known  as  "  Professor  Ros- 
siter";  and  commenting  on  the  similarity  of  my  name 
with  that  of  a  "  very  agreeable  young  gentleman  "  whom 
he  had  recently  seen  in  Gower,  it  turned  out  that  you 
were  an  acquaintance  of  his.  He  thinks  it  a  great  pity 
that  you  are  reading  for  the  Bar  and  wishes  you  had 
taken  up  Science  instead.  At  any  rate  he  hopes  you  will 
go  and  see  him  in  London  one  day  —  No.  i  Park  Cres- 
cent.    Portland  Place. 

H.  V.  W. 

Several  times  in  reading  this  letter  the  tears  stood  in 
David's  eyes.  So  much  trust  and  kindness  made  him 
momentarily  sorry  at  the  double  life  he  was  leading.  If 
it  were  possible  to  establish  the  death  of  the  wastrel 
he  was  personating  he  would  perhaps  allow  his  "  father  " 
to  live  on  in  this  new-found  happiness ;  but  if  the  real 
D.V.W.  were  alive  some  effort  must  be  made  to  help 
him  out  of  the  slough  —  perhaps  to  bring  him  back.  He 
would  try  to  find  out  through  Frank  Gardner. 

Some  time  before  Vivie  Warren  had  taken  her  depar- 
ture, she  had  left  behind  in  Honoria  Eraser's  tempo- 
rary care  a  Power  of  Attorney  duly  executed  in  favour  of 
David  Vavasour  Williams ;  and  reciprocally  D.V.W.  had 
executed  another  in  favour  of  Vivien  Warren.  Both 
these  documents  lay  securely  in  the  little  safe  that  David 
had  had  fitted  into  the  wall  of  his  sitting-room  in  Fig 


76  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Tree  Court.  Also  David  had  opened  an  account  in  his 
own  name  after  he  got  back  from  Wales,  at  the  Temple 
Bar  Branch  of  the  C.  &.  C.  Bank.  Into  this  he  now 
paid  the  cheque  for  twenty-five  pounds  which  his  father 
had  sent  as  pocket  mone}^ 

A  few  days  afterwards,  Vivie  Warren  reappeared  — 
in  spirit  —  and  indited  a  letter  to  Frank  Gardner's  agents 
in  Cape  Town.  She  was  careful  to  give  no  address  at  the 
head  of  the  letter  and  to  post  it  at  Victoria  Station.  In 
it  she  said  she  was  starting  on  a  tour  abroad,  but  asked 
him  to  do  what  he  could  to  trace  the  boy  who  had  lain  so 
grievously  ill  in  the  hospital  at  Colesberg.  Had  he  re- 
covered after  the  Boers  had  taken  Colesberg?  As  a 
rumour  had  reached  her  that  he  had,  and  had  even  re- 
turned to  England.  She  wanted  to  know,  and  if  they 
ever  met  again  would  tell  him  why.  Meanwhile  if  he 
got  any  news  would  he  address  it  to  her,  care  of  Honoria 
Eraser^  Queen  Anne's  Mansions,  St.  James's  Park;  as 
her  own  address  would  be  quite  uncertain  for  the  present. 
Or  it  would  do  quite  as  well  if  he  wrote  to  Praddy;  but 
not  to  his  father,  which  might  only  needlessly  agitate  the 
old  clergyman  down  in  Wales,  whom  Vivie  by  an  un- 
expected chance  had  come  to  know. 

The  first  result  of  this  letter  a  year  later  was  a  state- 
ment of  Frank's  belief,  almost  certainty,  that  his  acquaint- 
ance of  the  hospital  Jiad  died  and  been  buried  while  the 
Boers  held  possession  of  Colesberg;  and  that  indeed  was 
the  utmost  that  was  ever  learnt  about  the  end  of  the 
ill-fated  son  of  Howel  Vaughan  Williams  and  Mary  his 
wife,  who  were  wedded  in  sunshine  and  with  fair  pros- 
pects of  happiness  in  the  early  summer  of  1874. 

The  new-born  David  Vavasour  Williams  having  by 
November  settled  all  these  details,  having  arranged  to 
pay  the  very  modest  rent  of  fifty-five  pounds  for  his  three 
rooms  at  Fig  Tree  Court,  and  twenty-^five  pounds  a  year 
to  the  housekeeper  who  was  to  "  do  "  for  him  and  an- 


READING  FOR  THE  BAR  >j^ 

other  gentleman  on  the  same  floor  —  a  gentleman  who 
was  most  anxious  to  be  chummy  with  the  new  tenant  of 
the  opposite  chambers  but  whose  advances  were  firmly 
though  civilly  kept  at  bay  —  having  likewise  passed  his 
preliminary  examination  (since  he  could  not  avow  that 
inside  his  clothes  he  was  a  third  wrangler) ,  having  satis- 
fied his  two  "  godfathers  "  of  the  Bar  that  he  was  a  fit 
person  to  recommend  to  the  Benchers ;  having  arranged 
to  read  with  a  barrister  in  chambers,  and  settled  all  other 
preliminaries  of  importance :  decided  that  he  would  pay 
an  afternoon  call  on  the  Rossiters  in  Portland  Place  and 
see  how  the  land  lay  there. 

Already  a  strange  exhilaration  was  spreading  over 
David's  mind.  Life  was  not  twice  but  ten  times  more 
interesting  than  it  had  appeared  to  the  prejudiced  eyes  of 
Vivien  Warren.  It  was  as  though  she  —  he  —  had 
passed  through  some  magic  door,  gone  through  the  look- 
ing-glass and  was  contemplating  the  same  world  as  the 
one  Vivie  had  known  for  —  shall  we  say  fifteen  ?  — 
years,  but  a  world  which  viewed  from  a  different  stand- 
point was  quite  changed  in  proportions,  in  colour,  in  the 
conjunction  of  events.  It  was  a  world  in  which  every- 
thing was  made  smooth  and  easy  before  the  semblance  of 
manhood.  What  a  joy  to  be  rid  of  skirts  and  petticoats ! 
To  be  able  to  run  after  and  leap  on  to  an  omnibus,  to 
wear  the  same  hat  day  after  day  just  stuck  on  top  of 
her  curly  head.  Not,  perhaps,  to  change  her  clothes,  be- 
tween her  uprising  and  her  retirement  to  bed,  unless  she 
were  going  out  to  dine.  No  simpering.  No  need  to 
ask  favours.  No  compliments.  It  is  true  she  felt  awk- 
ward in  the  presence  of  women,  not  quite  the  same,  even 
with  Honoria.  But  with  men.  What  a  difference! 
She  felt  she  had  never  really  known  men  before.  At  first 
the  frank  speech,  the  expletives,  the  smoking-room  stories 
made  her  a  little  uncomfortable  and  occasionally  called 
forth  an  irrepressible  blush.     But  this  was  not  to  her 


78  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

disadvantage.  It  made  her  seem  younger,  and  created  a 
good  impression  on  her  tutors  and  acquaintances.  "  A 
nice  modest  boy,  fresh  from  the  country  —  pity  to  lead 
him  astray  —  won't  preserve  his  innocence  long — "  was 
the  vaguely  defined  impression,  contact  with  her  —  him, 
I  mean  —  made  on  most  decent  male  minds.  Many  a 
lad  comes  up  from  the  country  to  commence  his  career  in 
London  who  knew  far  less  than  the  unfortunate  Vivie 
had  been  compelled  to  know  of  the  shady  side  of  life; 
who  is  compelled  to  lead  a  somewhat  retired  life  by  strait- 
ness  of  means ;  whose  determination  towards  probity  and 
regularity  of  life  is  respected  by  the  men  of  law  among 
whom  he  finds  himself. 

But  David  having  decided  —  he  did  not  quite  know 
why  —  to  pursue  his  acquaintance  with  Professor  Ros- 
siter;  having  written  to  ask  if  he  might  do  so  (as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  he  frequently  saw  Rossiter  walking  across  the 
gardens  of  New  Square  to  go  to  the  museum  of  the  Royal 
College  of  Surgeons :  he  recollected  him  immediately  but 
Rossiter  did  not  reciprocate,  being  absent-minded)  ;  and 
having  received  a  card  from  "  Linda  Rossiter  "  to  say 
they  would  be  at  home  throughout  the  winter  on  Thurs- 
days, between  4  and  6:  went  on  one  of  those  Thursdays 
and  made  definite  progress  with  the  great  friendship  of 
his  life. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    ROSSITERS 

THE  Rossiters'  house  in  Park  Crescent  was  at  the 
northern  end  of  Portland  Place,  and  its  high-walled 
garden  —  the  stables  that  were  afterwards  to  become  a 
garage  —  and  Michael  Rossiter's  long,  glass-roofed 
studio-laboratory  —  abutted  on  one  of  those  quiet,  deadly- 
respectable  streets  at  the  back  that  are  called  after  Devon 
or  Dorset  place  names. 

The  house  is  now  a  good  deal  altered  and  differently 
numbered,  a  portion  of  it  having  been  destroyed  in  one 
of  the  19 1 7  air-raids,  when  the  Mar>debone  Road  was 
strewn  with  its  broken  glass  for  twenty  yards.  But  in 
the  winter  of  190 1-2  and  onwards  till  19 14  it  was  a  noted 
centre  of  social  intercourse  between  Society  and  Science. 
The  Rossiters  were  well  enough  off  —  he  made  quite 
two  thousand  a  year  out  of  his  professorial  work  and  his 
books,  and  her  income  which  was  £5,000  when  she  first 
married  had  risen  to  £9,000  after  they  had  been  married 
ten  years;  through  the  increase  in  value  of  Leeds  town 
property.  Mrs.  Rossiter  had  had  two  children,  but  were 
both  dead,  her  facile  tears  were  dried,  she  satisfied  her 
maternal  instinct  by  the  keeping  of  three  pug  dogs  which 
her  husband  secretly  detested.  She  also  had  a  scarlet- 
and-blue  macaw  and  two  cockatoos  and  a  Persian  cat; 
but  these  last  her  husband  liked  or  tolerated  for  their 
colour  or  their  biological  interest ;  only,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  dogs,  he  objected  (though  seldom  angrily,  out  of  con- 
sideration for  his  wife's  feelings)  to  their  being  so  messily 
and  inopportunely  fed. 

79 


8o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Linda  Rossiter  was  liable  to  lose  her  pets  as  she  had 
lost  her  two  children  by  alternating  days  of  forgetful- 
ness  with  weeks  of  lavish  over-attention.  But  as  she 
readily  gave  way  to  tears  on  the  least  remonstrance, 
Michael  in  the  course  of  eleven  years  of  married  life  re- 
monstrated as  little  as  possible.  A  clever,  tactful  par- 
lour-maid and  two  good  housemaids,  a  manservant  who 
was  devoted  to  the  "  professor  "  and  a  taxidermist  who 
assisted  him  in  his  experiments  did  the  rest  in  keeping  the 
big  house  tolerably  tidy  and  presentable.  Rossiter  him- 
self was  too  intent  on  the  stars,  the  gases  of  decompo- 
sition, the  hidden  processes  of  life,  miscegenation  in  star- 
fish, microbic  diseases  in  man,  beasts,  birds  and  bees,  the 
glands  of  the  throat,  the  suprarenal  capsules  and  the 
chemical  origin  of  life  to  care  much  for  aesthetics,  for 
furniture  and  house  decoration.  He  was  the  third  son 
of  an  impoverished  Northumbrian  squire  who  on  his  part 
cared  only  for  the  more  barbarous  field-sports,  and  when 
he  could  take  his  mind  off  them  believed  that  at  some 
time  and  place  unspecified  Almighty  God  had  dictated  the 
English  bible  word  for  word,  had  established  the  Eng- 
lish Church  and  had  scrupulously  prescribed  the  func- 
tions and  limitations  of  woman.  His  wife  —  Michael 
Rossiter's  tenderly-loved  mother  —  had  died  from  a 
neglected  prolapsus  of  the  womb,  and  the  old  rambling 
house  in  Northumberland  situated  in  superb  scenery,  had 
in  its  furniture  grown  more  and  more  hideous  to  the 
eye  as  early  and  mid-Victorian  fashions  and  ideals  re- 
ceded and  modern  taste  shook  itself  free  from  what  was 
tawdry,  fluffy,  stuffy,  floppy,  messy,  cheaply  imitative, 
fringed  and  tasselled  and  secretive. 

Michael  himself  from  sheer  detestation  of  the  sur- 
roundings under  which  he  had  grown  to  manhood 
favoured  the  uncovered,  the  naked  wood  or  stone  or 
slate,  the  bare  floor,  the  wooden  settee  or  cane-bottomed 
chair,  the  massive  side-board,  the  bare  mantelpiece  and 


THE  ROSSITERS  8i 

distempered  wall.  On  the  whole,  their  house  in  Port- 
land Place  satisfied  tolerably  well  the  advanced  taste  in 
domestic  scenery  of  1901.  But  your  eye  was  caught  at 
once  by  the  additions  made  by  Mrs.  Rossiter.  Linda 
conceived  it  was  her  womanly  mission  to  lighten  the 
severity  of  Michael's  choice  in  furniture  and  decorations. 
She  introduced  rickety  and  expensive  screens  that  were 
easily  knocked  over ;  photographs  in  frames  which 
toppled  at  a  breath;  covers  on  every  flat  surface  that 
could  be  covered  —  occasional  tables,  tops  of  grand 
pianos.  If  she  did  not  put  frills  round  piano  legs,  she 
placed  tasselled  poufs  about  the  drawing-room  that  every 
short-sighted  visitor  fell  over,  and  used  large  bows  of 
slightly  discoloured  ribbon  to  mask  unneeded  brackets. 
In  the  reception  rooms  food-bestrewn  parrot  stands  were 
left  where  they  ought  never  to  be  seen;  and  there  were 
gilt-wired  parrot  cages ;  baskets  for  the  pugs  lined  with 
soiled  shawls ;  absurd  ornaments,  china  cats  with  ex- 
aggerated necks,  alabaster  figures  of  stereotyped  female 
beauty  and  flowerpot  stands  of  ornate  bamboo.  She 
loved  portieres,  and  she  would  fain  have  mitigated  the 
bareness  of  the  panelled  or  distempered  walls:  only  that 
here  her  husband  was  firm.  She  unconsciously  mocked 
the  few  well-chosen,  well-placed  pictures  on  the  walls 
(which  she  itched  to  cover  with  a  "  flock  "  paper)  by 
placing  in  the  same  room  on  bamboo  easels  that  matched 
the  be-ribboned  flower-stands  pastel,  crayon,  or  gouache 
studies  of  the  worst  possible  taste. 

Michael's  library  alone  w^as  free  from  her  improve- 
ments, though  it  was  sometimes  littered  with  her  work- 
bags  or  her  work.  She  had  long  ago  developed  the 
dreadful  mistake  that  it  "  helped  "  Michael  at  his  work  if 
she  brought  hers  (perfectly  futile  as  a  rule)  there  too. 
"  I  just  sit  silently  in  his  room,  my  dear,  and  stitch  or 
knit  something  for  poor  people  in  Marrybone  —  I'm 
told    you    mayn't    say    Mary-le-bone.     I    feel    it    helps 


82  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Michael  to  know  I'm  there,  but  of  course  I  don't  inter- 
rupt him  at  his  zvork." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  she  did,  confoundedly.  But  for- 
tunately she  soon  grew  sleepy  or  restless.  She  would 
yawn,  as  she  believed  "prettily,"  but  certainly  noisily; 
or  she  would  wonder  "  how  time  was  going,"  and  of 
course  her  twenty-guinea  watch  never  went,  or  if  it  was 
going  was  seldom  within  one  hour  of  the  actual  time.  Or 
she  would  sneeze  six  times  in  succession  —  little  cat-like 
sneezes  that  were  infinitely  disturbing  to  a  brain  on  the 
point  of  grasping  the  solution  of  a  problem.  Through- 
out the  winter  months  she  had  a  little  cough.  Oh  no, 
you  needn't  think  I'm  preparing  the  way  for  decease 
through  phthisis  —  it  was  one  of  those  "  kifify  "  coughs 
due  in  the  main  to  acidity  —  too  many  sweet  things  in 
her  diet,  too  little  exercise.  She  thought  she  coughed 
with  the  greatest  discretion  but  to  the  jarred  nerves  of 
her  husband  a  few  hearty  bellows  or  an  asthmatic  wheeze 
would  have  been  preferable  to  the  fidgety,  marmoset- 
like sounds  that  came  from  under  a  lace  handkerchief. 
Sometimes  he  would  raise  his  eyes  to  speak  sharply;  but 
at  the  sight  of  the  mild  gaze  that  met  his,  the  perfect  be- 
lief that  she  was  a  soothing  presence  in  this  room  of  hard 
thinking  and  close  writing  —  this  superb  room  with  its 
unrivalled  library  that  he  owed  to  the  use  of  her  wealth, 
his  angry  look  would  soften  and  he  would  return  smile 
for  smile. 

Linda  though  a  trifle  fretful  on  occasion,  especially 
with  servants,  a  little  petulant  and  hufl'y  with  a  sense  of 
her  own  dignity  and  importance  as  a  rich  woman,  was 
completely  happy  in  her  marriage.  She  had  never  re- 
gretted it  for  one  hour,  never  swerved  from  the  convic- 
tion that  she  and  Michael  were  a  perfect  match  —  he,  tall, 
stalwart,  black-haired  and  strong;  she  "petite" — she 
loved  the  French  adjective  ever  since  it  had  been  applied 
to   her  at   Scarborough   by  a   sycophantic  governess  — 


THE  ROSSITERS  83 

petite  —  she  would  repeat,  blonde,  plump,  or  better  still 
"  potelee  "  (the  governess  had  later  suggested,  when  she 
came  to  tea  and  hoped  to  be  asked  to  stay)  potelee,  blue- 
eyed  and  pink-cheeked.  Dresden  china  and  all  the  stale 
similes  applied  to  a  type  of  little  woman  of  whom  the 
modern  world  has  grown  intolerant. 

It  was  therefore  into  this  milieu  that  David  found 
himself  introduced  one  Thursday  at  the  end  of  Novem- 
ber, 1 90 1.  He  had  walked  the  short  distance  from  Great 
Portland  Street  station.  It  was  a  fine  day  with  a  red 
sunset,  and  a  lemon-coloured,  thin  moon-crescent  above 
the  sunset.  The  trees  and  bushes  of  Park  Crescent  were 
a  background  of  dull  blue  haze.  The  surface  of  the 
broad  roads  was  dry  and  polished,  so  his  neat,  pat- 
ent-leather boots  would  still  be  fit  for  drawing-room 
carpets. 

A  footman  in  a  very  plain  livery  —  here  Michael  was 
firm  —  opened  the  massive  door.  David  passed  be- 
tween some  statuary  of  too  frank  a  style  for  Linda's 
modest  taste  and  was;  taken  over  by  a  butler  of  severe 
aspect  who  announced  him  into  the  great  drawing-room 
as  Mr.  David  Williams. 

He  recognized  Rossiter  at  once,  standing  up  with  a 
tea-cup  and  saucer,  and  presumed  that  a  fluffy,  much 
be-furbelowed  little  lady  at  the  main  tea-table  was  Mrs. 
Rossiter,  since  she  wore  no  hat.  There  was  besides  a 
rather  alarming  concourse  of  men  and  women  of  the 
world  as  he  kept  his  eyes  firmly  fixed  on  Mrs.  Rossiter 
for  his  immediate  goal. 

Rossiter  met  him  half-way,  shook  hands  cordially  and 
introduced  him  to  his  wife  who  bowed  with  one  of  her 
"  sweet  "  looks.  For  the  moment  David  did  not  interest 
her.  She  w^as  much  more  interested  in  trying  to  give 
an  impression  of  profundity  to  Lady  Feenix  who  was 
commenting  on  the  professor's  discoveries  of  the  strange 
properties  of  the  thyroid  gland.     A    few   introductions 


84  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

were  effected  —  Lady  Towcester,  Lady  Flower,  Miss 
Knipper-Totes,  Lady  Dombey,  Mr.  Lacrevy,  Professor 
Ray  Lankester,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gosse  —  and  naturally 
for  the  most  part  David  only  half  caught  their  names 
while  they,  without  masking  their  indifference,  closed 
their  ears  to  his  ("  Some  student  or  other  from  his 
classes,  I  suppose  —  rather  nicely  dressed,  rather  too 
good-looking  for  a  young  man  ")  ;  and  Rossiter,  who  had 
been  interrupted  first  by  Mrs.  Rossiter  asking  him  to 
observe  that  Lady  Dombey  had  nothing  on  her  plate, 
and  secondly  by  David's  entrance,  resumed  his  discourse. 
Goodness  knew  that  he  didn't  zvant  to  discourse  on  these 
occasions,  but  Society  expected  it  of  him.  There  were 
quite  twenty  —  twenty-two  —  people  present  and  most 
of  them  —  all  the  women  —  wanted  to  go  away  and  say 
four  hours  afterwards : 

"  We  were  (I  was)  at  the  Rossiters  this  afternoon,  and 
the  Professor  was  fascinating"  ("great,"  "profoundly 
interesting,"  "  shocking,  my  dear,"  "  scandalous," 
"  disturbing,'"'  "  illuminating,"  "  more-than-usually-en- 
thralling-only-she-wowW  -  keep  -  interrupting-why-u-she- 
such-a-fool?  ")  according  to  the  idiosyncrasy  of  the  diner- 
out.  "  He  talked  to  us  about  the  thyroid  gland  —  I 
don't  believe  poor  Bob's  got  one,  between  ourselves  — 
and  how  if  you  enlarged  it  or  reduced  it  you'd  adjust  peo- 
ple's characters  to  suit  the  needs  of  Society ;  and  all  about 
chimpanzi's  blood  —  I  believe  he  vivisects  half  through 
the  night  in  that  studio  behind  the  house  —  being  the 
same  as  ours ;  and  then  Ray  Lankester  and  Chalmers 
Mitchell  argued  about  the  caeca  —  cjecums,  you  know  — 
something  to  do  with  appendicitis  —  of  the  mammalia, 
and  altogether  we  had  a  high  old  time  —  I  always  learn 
something  on  their  Thursdays." 

Well :  Rossiter  resumed  his  description  of  an  experi- 
ment he  was  making  —  quite  an  everyday  one,  of  course, 
for  there  were  at  least  three  men  present  to  whom  he 


THE  ROSSITERS  85 

wasn't  going  to  give  away  clues  prematurely.  An  ex- 
periment on  the  motor  biallaxis  of  dormice. 

[Mrs.  Rossiter  had  six  months  previously  bought  a 
dormouse  in  a  cage  at  a  bazaar,  and  after  idolizing  it 
for  a  week  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Her  husband 
had  rescued  it  half  star^^ed;  his  assistant  had  fed  it  up 
in  the  laboratory,  and  they  had  tried  a  few  experiments 
on  it  with  painless  drugs  with  astonishing  results.] 

The  recital  really  was  interesting  and  entirely  out- 
side the  priggishness  of  Science,  but  it  was  marred  in 
consecutiveness  and  simplicity  by  Mrs.  Rossiter's  inter- 
ruptions. "Michael  dear,  Lady  Dombey's  cup!"  Or: 
"Mike,  could  you  cut  that  cake  and  hand  it  round?" 
Or,  if  she  didn't  interrupt  her  husband  she  started  stories 
and  side-issues  of  her  own  in  a  voice  that  was  quite  dis- 
tinctly heard,  about  a  new  stitch  in  crochet  she  had  seen 
in  the  Queen,  or  her  inspection  of  the  East  Marrj'bone 
soup  kitchen. 

However  when  all  had  taken  as  much  tea  and  cakes 
and  marrons  glaces  as  they  cared  for  —  David  was  so 
shy  that  he  had  only  one  cup  of  tea  and  one  piece  of 
tea-cake  —  the  large  group  broke  up  into  five  smaller 
ones.  The  few  gradually  converged,  and  dropping  all 
nonsense  discussed  biology  like  good  'uns,  David  listening 
eager-eyed  and  enthralled  at  the  marvels  just  beginning 
to  peep  out  of  the  dissecting  and  vivisecting  rooms  and 
chemical  laboratories  in  the  opening  years  of  the 
Twentieth  century.  Then  one  by  one  they  all  departed; 
but  as  David  was  going  too  Rossiter  detained  him  by  a 
kindly  pressure  on  the  arm  —  a  contact  which  sent  a 
half-pleasant,  half-disagreeable  thrill  through  his  nerves. 

"  Don't  hurry  away  unless  you  really  are  pressed  for 
time.  I  want  to  show  you  some  of  my  specimens  and 
the  place  where  I  work." 

David  followed  him  —  after  taking  his  leave  of  Mrs. 
Rossiter    who    accepted    his    polite    sentences  —  a    little 


86  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

stammered  —  with  a  slightly  pompous  acquiescence  — 
followed  him  to  the  library  and  then  through  a  curtained 
door  down  some  steps  into  a  great  studio-laboratory, 
provided  (behind  screens)  with  washing  places,  and  full 
of  mysteries,  with  cupboards  and  shelves  and  further 
rooms  beyond  and  a  smell  of  chloride  of  lime  combined 
with  alcoholic  preservatives  and  undefined  chemicals. 
After  a  tour  round  this  domain  in  which  David  was  only 
slightly  interested  —  for  lack  of  the  right  education  and 
imagination  —  so  far  he  —  or  —  she  had  only  the  mind 
of  a  mathematician  —  Rossiter  led  him  back  into  the 
library,  drew  out  chairs,  indicated  cigarettes  —  even 
whiskey  and  soda  if  he  wanted  it  —  David  declined  — 
and  then  began  to  say  what  was  at  the  back  of  his 
mind :  — 

"  We  met  first  in  the  train,  the  South  Wales  Express, 
you  remember?  I  fancy  you  told  me  then  that  you 
had  been  in  South  Africa,  in  this  bungled  war,  and 
had  been  either  wounded  or  ill  in  some  way.  In  fact 
you  went  so  far  as  to  say  you  had  had  '  necrosis  of  the 
jaw,'  a  thing  I  politely  doubted  because  whatever  it  was 
it  has  left  no  perceptible  scar.  Of  course  it's  damned 
impertinent  of  me  to  cross-examine  you  at  all,  or  to 
ask  why  you  went  to  and  why  you  left  South  Africa. 
But  I  don't  mind  confessing  you  inspire  me  with  a  good 
deal  of  interest. 

"  Now  the  other  day  —  as  you  know  —  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  your  father  in  Wales  —  at  Pontystrad. 
I  told  him  I  had  shown  a  young  fellow  some  of  those 
Gower  caves  and  how  his  name  was  —  like  your  father's, 
'  Williams.'  Of  course  we  soon  came  to  an  understand- 
ing. Then  your  father  spoke  of  you  in  high  praise. 
What  a  delightful  nature  was  yours,  how  considerate 
and  kind  you  were  —  don't  blush,  though  I  admit  it 
becomes  you  —  Well  you  can  pretty  well  guess  how  he 
went  on.     But  what  interested  me  particularly  was  his 


THE  ROSSITERS  87 

next  admission :  how  different  you  were  as  a  lad  — 
rather  more  than  the  ordinary  wild  oats  —  eh  ?  And 
how  completely  an  absence  in  South  Africa  had  changed 
you.  You  must  forgive  my  cheek  in  dissecting  your 
character  like  this.  My  excuse  is  that  you  yourself  had 
rather  vaguely  referred  to  some  wound  or  blood  poison- 
ing or  operation  on  the  jaw  or  the  throat.  Not  to  beat 
about  the  bush  any  more,  the  idea  came  into  my  mind 
that  if  in  some  way  the  knife  or  the  enemy's  bullet  had 

interfered  with  your  thyroid  gland Twig  what  I 

mean?  I  mean,  that  if  your  old  man  has  not  been  exag- 
gerating and  that  the  difference  between  the  naughty 
boy  whom  he  sent  up  to  London  in  —  what  was  it  ? 
1896?  —  and  the  perfectly  behaved,  good  sort  of  chap 
that  you  are  nozv  is  no  more  than  what  usually  happens 
when  young  men  lose  their  cubbishness,  zvhy  —  zi'hy  — 
do  you  take  me?  —  I  ask  myself  whether  the  change  had 
come  about  through  some  interference  with  the  thyroid 
gland.  Do  you  understand  ?  And  I  thought,  seeing  how 
intensely  interesting  this  research  has  become,  you  might 
have  told  me  more  about  it.  Just  what  did  happen  to 
you ;  where  you  were  wounded,  who  attended  to  you,  what 
operation  was  performed  on  the  throat  —  only  the  rum 
thing  is  there  seems  to  be  no  scar  —  well :  now  you  help 
me  out,  that  is  unless  you  feel  more  inclined  to  say, 
'  What  the  hell  does  it  matter  to  you? '  "  .  .  . 

David  by  this  time  has  grown  scarlet  with  embarrass- 
ment and  confusion.  But  he  endeavoured  to  meet  the 
situation. 

"  My  character  has  changed  during  the  last  five  years, 
and  especially  so  since  I  came  back  from  South  Africa. 
But  I  am  quite  sure  it  was  not  due  to  any  operation,  on 
the  throat  or  anywhere  else.  I  really  don't  know  zvhy 
I  told  you  that  silly  falsehood  in  the  train  —  about 
necrosis  of  the  jaw.  The  fact  is  that  when  I  was  in 
hospital  —  at  —  Colesberg,  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  same 


88  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

ward  used  —  to  chaff  me  —  and  say  I  was  going  to  have 
necrosis.  I  had  got  knocked  over  one  day  —  by  —  the  — 
wind  of  a  shell  and  thought  I  was  done  for,  but  it  really 
was  next  to  nothing.  P'raps  I  had  a  dose  of  fever  on  top. 
At  any  rate  they  kept  me  in  hospital,  and  one  morn- 
ing the  doctors  disappeared  and  the  Boers  marched  in 
and  when  I  got  well  enough  I  managed  to  escape  and 
get  away  to  —  er  —  Cape  Town  and  so  returned  —  with 
some  money  —  my  friend  Frank  Gardner  lent  me." 
(At  this  stage  the  sick-at-heart  Vivie  was  saying  to  her- 
self, "  What  an  account  I'm  laying  up  for  Frank  to  hon- 
our when  he  comes  back  —  if  he  does  come  back.")  "  I 
don't  know  why  I  tell  you  all  this,  except  that  I  ought 
never  to  have  misled  you  at  the  start.  But  if  you  are 
a  kind  and  good  man  " —  David's  voice  broke  here  — 
"  You  will  forget  all  about  it  and  not  upset  my  father. 
I  can  assure  you  I  haven't  done  anything  really  wrong. 
I  haven't  deserted  —  some  day  —  perhaps  —  I  can  tell 
you  all  about  it.  But  at  present  all  that  South  African 
episode  is  just  -a  horrid  dream  —  I  was  more  sinned 
against  than  sinning  "  (tears  v/ere  rather  in  the  voice 
at  this  stage).  "I  want  to  forget  all  about  it  —  and 
settle  down  and  vex  my  father  no  more.  I  want  to  read 
for  the  Bar  —  a  soldier's  life  is  the  very  opposite  to  what 
I  should  choose  if  I  were  a  free  agent.  But  you  will 
trust  me,  won't  you?  You  wih  believe  me  when  I  say 
I've  done  nothing  wrong,  nothing  that  you,  if  you  knew 
all  the  facts,  would  call  wrong.  .  .  .  ?  " 

Speech  here  trailed  off  into  emotion.  Despite  the 
severest  self-restraint  the  bosom  rose  and  fell.  A  few 
tears  trickled  down  the  smooth  cheeks  —  it  was  an  in- 
gratiating boy  on  the  verge  of  manhood  that  Rossiter 
saw  before  him.     He  hastened  to  say  : 

"My  dear  chap!  Don't  say  another  word,  unless 
you  like  to  blackguard  me  for  my  impertinence  in  put- 
ting these   questions.     I   quite  understand.     We'll  con- 


THE  ROSSITERS  89 

sider  the  whole  thing  erased  from  our  memories.  Go 
on  studying  for  the  Bar  with  all  your  might,  if  you 
must  take  up  so  barren  a  profession  and  won't  become 
my  pupil  in  biolog}^  —  Great  openings,  I  can  tell  you, 
coming  now  in  that  direction."      (A  pause.) 

"  But  if  it's  of  any  interest  to  you,  just  come  here  as 
often  as  you  like  in  your  spare  time  —  either  to  tea  with 
Mrs.  Rossiter  or  to  see  me  at  work  on  my  experiments. 
I've  taken  a  great  liking  to  you,  if  you'll  allow  me  to 
say  so.  I  think  there's  good  stuff  in  you.  A  young 
man  reading  for  the  Bar  in  London  is  none  the  worse 
for  a  few  friends.  He  must  often  feel  pretty  lonely 
on  a  Sunday,  for  example.  And  he  may  also  —  now 
I'm  going  to  be  impertinent  and  paternal  again  —  he 
may  also  pick  up  undesirable  acquaintances,  male  —  and 
female.  Don't  you  get  feeling  lonely,  with  your  home 
far  away  in  Wales.  Consider  yourself  free  of  this  place 
at  any  rate,  and  my  wife  and  I  can  introduce  you  to 
some  other  people  you  might  like  to  know.  I  might 
introduce  you  to  ]\Iark  Stansfield  the  O.C.  Do  you 
know  any  one  in  London,  by  the  bye  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  David,  smiling  with  all  but  one  tear 
dried  on  a  still  coloured  cheek.  "  I  know  Honoria 
Eraser  —  I  know  Mr.  Praed  the  architect " 

"The  A.R.A. ?  Of  course;  you  or  your  father  said 
you  had  been  his  pupil.  H'm.  Praed.  Yes,  I  visualize 
him.  Rather  a  dilettante  —  whimsical  —  I  didn't  like 
what  I  heard  of  him  at  one  time.  However  it's  no  affair 
of  mine.  And  Honoria  Eraser!  She's  simply  one  of 
the  best  women  I  know.  It's  curious  she  wasn't  here  — 
At  least  I  didn't  see  her  —  this  afternoon.  She's  a 
friend  of  my  wife's.  I  knew  her  when  she  was  at  Newn- 
ham.  She  had  a  great  friend  —  what  was  it  ?  Violet  ? 
No,  Vera  ?  Vivien  —  yes  that  was  it,  Vivien  Warren. 
Of  course!  Why  that  business  she  started  for  women 
in  the   City  somewhere  is   called  Frascr  and   Warren. 


90  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

She  was  always  wanting  to  bring  this  Vivien  Warren 
here.  Said  she  had  such  a  pretty  colouring.  I  own 
I  rather  like  to  see  a  pretty  woman.  But  she  didn't 
come  "  (pulls  at  his  pipe  and  thrusts  another  cigarette 
on  David).  "Went  abroad.  Seemed  rather  morose. 
Some  one  who  came  with  Honoria  said  she  had  a  bad 
mother,  and  Honoria  very  rightly  shut  him  up.  By  the 
bye,  where  and  how  did  you  come  to  meet  Honoria  first?  " 

(David  was  on  the  point  of  saying  —  he  was  so  un- 
strung — "  Why  we  were  at  Newnham  together."  Then 
resolved  to  tell  another  whopper  —  Indeed  I  am  told  there 
is  a  fascination  in  certain  circumstances  about  lying  — 
and  replied)  :  "  Vivien  Warren  was  my  cousin.  She 
was  a  Vavasour  on  her  mother's  side  —  from  South 
Wales  —  and  my  mother  was  a  Vavasour  too  — "  And 
as  the  disguised  Vivie  said  this,  some  inkling  came  into 
her  mind  that  there  ivas  a  real  relationship  between 
Catharine  Warren  ncc  Vavasour  and  the  Mary  Vavasour 
who  was  David's  mother.  A  spasm  of  joy  flashed 
through  her  at  the  possibility  of  her  story  being  in  some 
slight  degree  true. 

"  I  see,"  said  Rossiter,  satisfied,  and  feeling  now  that 
the  interview  had  lasted  long  enough  and  that  there 
would  be  just  time  to  glance  at  his  assistant's  afternoon 
work  before  he  dressed  for  dinner.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  old  chap.  Good-bye  for  the  present.  Come 
often  and  see  us  and  look  upon  me  —  I  must  be  fifteen 
years  older  than  you  are  —  What,  tiventy-fourf  Impos- 
sible !  You  don't  look  a  day  older  than  twenty  —  in 
fact,  if  you  hadn't  told  me  you'd  been  in  South  Africa 

However  as  I  was  saying,  look  on  me  as  in  loco 

parentis  while  you  are  in  London.  I'll  show  you  the  way 
out  into  the  hall.  Shall  they  call  you  a  cab?  No? 
You're  quite  right.  It's  a  splendid  night  for  January. 
Where  do  you  live  ?  Here,  write  it  down  in  my  address 
book,  .  .  .  '  7  Fig  Tree  Court,  Temple  '—  What  a  jolly 


THE  ROSSITERS  91 

address!  Are  there  fig  trees  in  the  Temple  .  .  .  still? 
P'raps  descended  from  cuttings  or  layers  the  poor 
Templars  brought  from  the  Holy  Land." 

David  returned  to  Fig  Tree  Court  and  his  studies  of 
criminology.  But  his  body  and  mind  thrilled  with  the 
experiences  of  the  afternoon;  and  the  musty  records  in 
works  of  repellent  binding  and  close,  unsympathetic 
print  of  nineteenth  century  forgery,  poisoning,  assaults- 
on-the-person,  and  cruelty-to-children  cases  for  once 
failed  to  hold  his  close  attention.  He  sat  all  through 
the  evening  after  a  supper  of  bread  and  cheese  and 
ginger  beer  in  his  snug,  small  room,  furnished  principally 
with  well-filled  book-shelves.  The  room  had  a  glowing 
fire  and  a  green-shaded  reading  lamp.  He  sat  staring 
beyond  his  law  books  at  visions,  waking  dreams  that  came 
and  went.  The  dangers  of  exposure  that  opened  before 
him  were  in  these  dreams,  but  there  were  other  mind- 
pictures  that  filled  his  life  with  a  glow  of  colour.  How 
different  from  the  drab  horizons  that  encircled  poor 
Vivie  Warren  less  than  a  year  ago !  Poor  Vivie,  whom 
even  Fitz John's  Avenue  at  Hampstead  had  rejected, 
who  had  long  since  been  dropped  —  no  doubt  on  account 
of  rumours  concerning  her  mother  —  by  the  few  acquaint- 
ances she  had  made  at  Cambridge,  who  had  parents 
living  in  South  Kensington,  Bayswater,  and  Bloomsbury. 
Here  was  Portland  Place  receiving  her  in  her  guise  as 
David  Williams  with  open  arms.  Ivlen  and  women 
looked  at  her  kindly,  interestedly,  and  she  could  look 
back  at  them  without  that  protective  frown.  At  night 
she  could  walk  about  the  town,  go  to  the  theatre,  stroll 
along  the  Embankment  and  attract  no  man's  offensive 
attentions.  She  could  enter  where  she  liked  for  a  meal, 
a  cup  of  tea,  frequent  the  museum  of  the  Royal  College 
of  Surgeons  when  she  would  without  waiting  for  a 
"ladies"    day;    stop   to    look    at    a    street   fight,    cause 


92  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

no  sour  looks  if  she  entered  a  smoking  compartment 
on  the  train,  mingle  with  the  man-world  unquestioned, 
unhindered,  unnoticed,  exciting  at  most  a  pleasant  off- 
hand camaraderie  due  to  her  youth  and  good  looks. 

Should  she  go  on  with  the  bold  adventure?  A 
thousand  times  yes!  David  should  break  no  law  In 
Vivie's  code  of  honour,  do  real  wrong  to  no  one;  but 
Vivie  should  see  the  life  best  worth  living  in  London 
from  a  man's  standpoint. 

David  however  must  be  armed  at  every  point  and 
have  his  course  clearly  marked  out  before  his  contem- 
plation. He  must  steep  himself  in  the  geography  of 
South  Africa  —  Why  not  get  Rossiter  to  propose  him 
as  a  fellow  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society?  That 
would  be  a  lark  because  they  wouldn't  admit  women 
as  members :  they  had  refused  Honoria  Eraser.  David 
must  read  up  —  somewhere  —  the  history  of  the  South 
African  War  as  far  as  it  went.  He  had  better  find  out 
something  about  the  Bechuanaland  Police  Force ;  how  as 
a  member  of  such  a  force  he  could  have  drifted  as  far 
south  as  the  vicinity  of  Colesberg;  how  thereabouts  he 
could  have  got  sick  enough  —  he  certainly  would  say 
nothing  more  about  a  wound  —  to  have  been  put  into 
hospital.  He  must  find  out  how  he  could  have  escaped 
from  the  Boers  and  come  back  to  England  without  get- 
ting into  difficulties  with  the  military  or  the  Colonial 
Office  or  whoever  had  any  kind  of  control  over  the 
members  of  the  Bechuanaland  Border  Police.   .  .  . 

But  the  v/hole  South  African  episode  had  better  be 
dropped.  Rossiter,  after  his  appeal,  would  set  himself 
to  forget  and  ignore  it.  It  must  be  damped  down  in 
the  poor  old  father's  mind  as  of  relative  unimportance  — 
after  all,  his  father  was  a  recluse  who  did  not  have  many 
visitors  ...  by  the  bye,  he  must  remember  to  write 
on  the  morrow  and  explain  why  he  could  not  come  down 
for  Christmas  or  the  New  Year  .  .  .  would  promise  a 


THE  ROSSITERS  93 

good  long  visit  in  the  Easter  holidays  instead  —  Must 
remember  that  resolution  to  learn  up  some  Welsh. 
What  a  nuisance  it  was  that  you  couldn't  buy  anywhere 
in  London  or  in  South  Wales  any  book  about  modern 
conversation  in  Welsh.  The  sort  of  Welsh  you  learnt 
in  the  old-fashioned  books,  which  were  all  that  could  be 
got,  was  Biblical  language  —  Some  one  had  told  David 
that  if  you  went  into  Smithfield  Market  in  the  early  morn- 
ing you  might  meet  the  Welsh  farmers  and  stock-drivers 
who  had  come  up  from  Wales  during  the  night  and  who 
held  forth  in  the  Cymric  tongue  over  their  beasts.  But 
probably  their  language  was  such  as  would  shock 
Nannie.  .  .  .  Supposing  Frank  Gardner  did  come  to 
England?  In  that  case  it  might  be  safer  to  confide  in 
Frank.  He  was  harum-scarum,  but  he  was  chivalrous 
and  he  pitied  Vivie.  Besides  he  was  a  prime  appreciator 
of  a  lark.  Should  she  even  tell  Rossiter?  No,  of 
course  not.  That  was  just  one  of  the  advantages  of 
being  "  David."  As  "  David  "  she  could  form  a  sincere 
and  inspiring  friendship  with  Rossiter  which  would  be 
utterly  beyond  her  reach  as  "  Vivie."  How  pale  beside 
the  comradeship  of  Honoria  now  appeared  the  hand- 
grips, the  hearty  male  free-masonry  of  a  man  like 
Rossiter.  How  ungrateful  however  even  to  make  such 
an  admission  to  herself.  .  .  . 

At  present  the  only  people  who  knew  of  her  prank 
and  guessed  or  knew  her  purpose  were  Honoria  and 
Bertie  Adams.  Honoria!  what  a  noble  woman,  what 
a  true  friend.  Somehow,  now  she  was  David,  she  saw 
Honoria  in  a  different  light.  Poor  Norie !  She  too  had 
her  wistful  leanings,  her  sorrows  and  disappointments. 
What  a  good  thing  it  would  be  if  her  mother  decided  to 
die  —  of  course  she  would,  could,  never  say  any  such 
thing  to  Norie  —  to  die  and  set  free  Honoria  to  marry 
Major  Petworth  Annstrong!  She  felt  Norie  still 
hankered  after  him,  but  perhaps  kept  him  at  bay  partly 


94  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

because  of  her  mother's  molluscous  clingings  —  No!  she 
wouldn't  even  sneer  at  Lady  Eraser,  Lady  Eraser  had 
been  one  of  the  early  champions  of  Woman's  rights. 
Very  likely  it  was  a  dread  of  Vivie's  sneers  and  disap- 
pointment that  had  mainly  kept  back  Norie  from  accept- 
ing Major  Armstrong's  advances.  Well,  when  next  they 
met  she  —  Vivie  —  or  better  still  David  —  would  set 
that  right. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HONORIA    AGAIN 

7,  Fig  Tree  Court,  Temple. 

March  20,  1902. 

DEAR  HoNORiA, — 
I  am  going  down  to  spend  Easter  with  my 
people  in  South  Wales.  Before  I  leave  I  should  so  very- 
much  like  a  long  talk  with  you  where  we  can  talk  freely 
and  undisturbed.  That  is  impossible  at  the  Office  for  a 
hundred  reasons,  especially  now  that  Beryl  Claridge  has 
taken  to  working  early  in  her  new-found  zeal,  while 
Bertie  Adams  deems  it  his  duty  to  stay  late.  I  ain  — 
really,  truly  —  grieved  to  hear  that  your  mother  is  so  ill 
again.  I  would  not  ask  to  meet  her  —  even  if  she  was 
well  enough  to  receive  people  —  because  she  does  not 
know  me  and  when  one  is  as  ill  as  she  is,  the  introduction 
to  a  stranger  is  a  horrid  jar.  But  if  you  could  fit  in  say 
an  hour's  detachment  from  her  side  —  is  it  "  bed-side  " 
or  is  she  able  to  get  up  ?  —  and  could  receive  me  in  your 
o-wn  sitting-room,  why  then  we  could  have  that  full  and 
free  talk  I  should  like  on  your  afifairs  and  on  mine  and 
on  the  joint  affairs  of  Fraser  and  Warren. 

Yours  sincerely, 

D.  V.  W. 
Dear  David, — 

Come  by  all  means.  The  wish  for  a  talk  is  fully 
reciprocated  on  my  side.  Mother  generally  tries  to  sleep 
in  the  afternoon  between  three  and  six,  and  a  Nurse  is 
then  with  her.  Yours  sincerely, 

H.  R 
95 


96  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

"  Mr.  David  Williams  wishes  to  see  you,  Miss,"  said 
a  waiter,  meeting-  Honoria  on  a  Thursday  afternoon,  as 
she  was  emerging  into  their  tiny  hall  from  her  mother's 
room. 

"  Show  him  up,  please.  .  .  .  Ah  there  you  are,  David. 

We  must  both  talk  rather  low  as  mother  is  easily  waked. 

Come  into  my  study;  fortunately  it  is  at  the  other  end 

of  the  flat." 

*  *  *  * 

They  reach  the  study,  and  Honoria  closes  the  door 
softly  but  firml}^  behind  them. 

"  We  never  do  kiss  as  a  rule,  having  long  ago  given 
up  such  a  messy  form  of  greeting;  but  certainly  we 
wouldn't  under  these  circumstances  lest  we  could  be  seen 
from  the  opposite  windows  and  thought  to  be  *  engaged  ' ; 
but  though  I  may  seem  a  little  frigid  in  greeting  you,  it 
is  only  because  of  the  clothes  you  are  wearing — You 
understand,  don't  you ?" 

"  Quite,  dearest.  We  cannot  be  too  careful.  Besides 
we  long  ago  agreed  to  be  modern  and  sanitary  in  our 
manners." 

"  Won't  you  smoke?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  would  be  more  restful,"  said  David, 
"  more  manly;  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  of  late  I  have  been 
rather  '  off '  smoking.  It  is  very  wasteful,  and  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned  it  never  produced  much  effect  —  either 
way  —  on  the  nerves.  Still,  it  gives  one  a  nice  manly 
flavour.  I  always  liked  the  smell  of  a  smoking-room. 
.  .  .  And  your  mother:  how  is  she?" 

"  Very  bad,  I  fear.  The  doctor  tells  me  she  can't  last 
much  longer,  and  hypocritical  as  the  phrase  sounds  I 
couldn't  wish  her  to,  unless  these  pains  can  be  mitig'nted, 
and  this  dreadful  distress  in  breathing.  ...  I  wonder  if 
some  day  /  shall  be  like  that,  and  if  behind  my  back 
a  daughter  will  be  saying  she  couldn't  wish  me  to  live 
much  longer,  unless,  etc.     I  shall  miss  her  frightfully, 


HONORIA  AGAIN  97 

if  she  does  die.  .  .  .  Armstrong  has  been  more  than 
kind.  He  has  got  a  woman's  heart  for  tenderness.  He 
thinks  every  day  of  some  fresh  palHative  until  the  doc- 
tors quite  dishke  him.  Fortunately  his  kindness  gives 
mother  a  fleeting  gleam  of  pleasure.  She  wants  me  to 
marry  him  —  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  .  .  .  Whilst  she's 
so  bad  I  don't  feel  I  could  take  any  interest  in  love-mak- 
ing —  and  I  suppose  we  should  make  love  in  a  perfunctory 
way  —  We're  all  of  us  so  bound  by  conventions.  We 
try  to  feel  dismal  at  funerals,  when  often  the  weather  is 
radiant  and  the  ride  down  to  Brookwood  most  exhilarat- 
ing. And  love-making  is  supposed  to  go  with  marriage 
,  .  .  heigh-ho !  What  should  you  say  if  I  did  marry  — 
Major  Armstrong  .  .  .  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a 
ridiculous  name  as  Petworth  ?  I  should  have  to  call  him 
*  Pet '  and  every  one  would  think  I  had  gone  sentimental 
in  middle  age.  How  can  parents  be  so  unthinking  about 
Christian  names?  He  can't  see  the  thing  as  I  do;  it 
is  almost  the  only  subject  on  which  he  is  '  hufify.'  You 
are  the  other,  about  which  more  anon.  He  says  the 
Petworth  property  meant  everything  to  the  Armstrongs, 
to  his  branch  of  the  Armstrongs.  But  for  that,  they 
might  have  been  any  other  kind  of  Armstrong  —  it  al- 
ways kept  him  straight  at  school  and  in  the  army,  he  says, 
to  remember  he  was  an  Armstrong  of  Petworth.  They 
have  held  that  poor  little  property  (/  call  it)  alongside 
the  Egmonts  and  the  Leconfields  for  three  hundred  years, 
though  they've  been  miserably  poor.  His  second  name 
is  James  —  Petworth  James  Armstrong.  But  he  loathes 
being  called  '  Jimmy.' 

"  Of  course,  dear,  I've  no  illusions.  I'm  not  bad  to 
look  at  —  indeed  I  sometimes  quite  admire  my  figure 
when  I  see  myself  after  my  bath  in  the  cheval  glass  — 
but  I'm  pretty  well  sure  that  one  of  the  factors  in  Pet's 
admiration  for  me  was  my  income.  Mother,  it  seems, 
has  a  little  of  her  own,  from  one  of  her  aunts,  and  if 


98  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  poor  darling  is  taken  —  though  it  is  simply  horrid 
considering  that  if  —  only  that  she  has  talked  so  freely 
to  Army  —  I  think  I  like  '  Army  '  far  better  than  '  Pet ' 
—  Well  I  mean  she's  been  trying  to  tell  him  ever  since 
he  first  came  to  call  that  when  she  is  gone  I  shall  have, 
all  told,  in  my  own  right,  Five  thousand  a  year.  So  I 
took  the  first  opportunity  of  letting  him  know  that  Two 
thousand  a  year  of  that  would  be  held  in  reserve  for  the 
work  of  the  firm  and  for  the  Woman's  Cause  generally. 
.  .  .  Look  here,  I  won't  babble  on  much  longer.  .  .  . 
I  know  you're  dying  to  make  me  confidences.  .  ,  , 
We'll  ring  for  tea  to  be  sent  in  here,  and  whilst  the  waiter 
is  coming  and  going  —  Don't  they  take  sitcJi  a  time  about 
it,  when  they're  de  trop?  —  we'll  talk  of  ordinary  things 
that  can  be  shouted  from  the  hotise  tops. 

"  I  haven't  been  to  the  Office  for  three  days.  Does 
everything  seem  to  be  going  on  all  right?  " 

David:  "  Quite  all  right.  Bertie  Adams  tries  dumbly 
to  express  in  his  eyes  his  determination  to  see  the  firm 
and  me  through  all  our  troubles  and  adventures.  I  wish 
I  could  convey  a  discreet  hint  to  him  not  to  be  so  blatantly 
discreet.  If  there  were  a  Sherlock  Holmes  about  the 
place  he  would  spot  at  once  that  Adams  and  I  shared  a 
secret.   .  .  .  But  about  Beryl "  (Enter  waiter.   .  .  .) 

Honoria  (to  waiter):  "Oh  —  er  —  tea  for  two 
please.  Remember  it  must  be  China  and  the  still-room 
maids  must  see  that  the  water  has  been  fresh-boiled. 
And  buttered  toast  —  or  if  you've  got  muffins  .  .  .  ? 
You  have?  Well,  then  muffins;  and  of  course  jam  and 
cake.  And  —  would  you  mind  —  you  always  try,  I 
know  —  bringing  the  things  in  very  quietly  —  here  —  ? 
Because  Lady  Eraser  is  so  easily  waked.  .  .  ." 

(The  Swiss  waiter  goes  out,  firmly  convinced  that 
Honoria's  anxiety  for  her  lady  mother  is  really  due  to 
the  desire  that  the  mother  should  not  interrupt  a  flirtation 
and  a  clandestine  tea.) 


HONORIA  AGAIN  99 

Honoria:     "Well,    about   Beryl?" 

Daznd:  "  Beryl,  I  should  say,  is  going  to  become  a 
great  woman  of  business.  But  for  that,  and  —  I  think 
—  a  curious  streak  of  fidelity  to  her  vacillating  architect 
('How  happy  could  I  be  with  either,'  don't  you  know, 
he  seems  to  feel  —  just  now  they  say  he  is  living  steadily 
at  Storrington  with  his  wife  No.  i,  who  is  ill,  poor  thing). 
.  .  .  but  for  that  and  this,  I  think  Beryl  would  enjoy  a 
flirtation  with  me.  She  can't  quite  make  me  out,  and  my 
unwavering  severity  of  manner.  Her  cross-questioning 
sometimes  is  maddening  —  or  it  might  become  so,  but 
that  with  both  of  us  —  you  and  me  —  retiring  so  much 
into  the  background  she  has  to  lead  such  a  strenuous  life 
and  see  one  after  the  other  the  more  important  clients. 
Of  course here's  the  tea.  .  .   ." 

(Brief  interval  during  which  the  waiter  does  much  un- 
necessar)^  laying  out  of  the  tea  until  Honoria  says : 
"  Don't  let  me  keep  you.  I  know  you  are  busy  at  this 
time.  I  will  ring  if  we  want  anything.")  David  con- 
tinues: "  Of  course  I  come  in  for  my  share  of  the  work 
after  six.  On  one  point  Beryl  is  firm;  she  doesn't  mind 
coming  at  nine  or  at  eight  or  at  half-past  seven  in  the 
morning,  but  she  must  be  back  in  Chelsea  by  half-past 
five  to  see  her  babies,  wash  them  and  put  them  to  bed. 
She  has  a  tiny  little  house,  she  tells  me,  near  Trafalgar 
Square,  and  fortunately  she's  got  an  excellent  and  de- 
voted nurse,  one  of  those  rare  treasures  that  questions 
nothing  and  is  only  interested  in  the  business  in  hand. 
She  and  a  cook-general  make  up  the  establishment.  Be- 
fore Mrs.  Architect  No.  i  became  ill,  Mr.  Architect  used 
to  visit  her  there  pretty  regularly,  and  is  assumed  to  be 
Mr.  Claridge.  .  .  .  Well :  to  finish  up  about  Beryl :  I 
think  you  —  we  —  can  trust  her.  She  may  be  odd  in  her 
notions  of  morality,  but  in  finance  or  business  she's  as 
honest  —  as  —  a  man." 

"  My  dear  Vivie  —  I  mean  David  —  what  a  strange 


loo  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

thing  for  yoii  to  say!  I  suppose  it  is  part  of  your 
make-up  —  goes  with  the  clothes  and  that  turn-over  col- 
lar, and  the  little  safety  pin  through  the  tie — ?  " 

David:  "  No,  I  said  it  deliberately.  Men  are  mostly 
hateful  things,  but  I  think  in  business  they're  more  de- 
pendable than  women  —  think  more  about  telling  a  lie  or 
letting  any  one  down.  The  point  for  you  to  seize  on  is 
this  —  if  you  haven't  noticed  it  already :  that  Beryl  has 
become  an  uncommonly  good  business  woman.  And 
what's  more,  my  dear,  you've  improved  her  just  as  you 
improved  ine''  (Honoria  deprecates  this  with  a  gesture, 
as  she  sits  looking  into  the  fire).  "  Beryl's  talk  is  getting 
ever  so  much  less  reckless.  And  she  takes  jolly  good 
care  not  to  scandalize  a  client.  She  finds  Adams  —  she 
tells  me — so  severe  at  the  least  jest  or  personality  that 
she  only  talks  to  him  now  on  business  matters,  and  finds 
him  a  great  stand-by;  and  the  other  day  she  told  Miss 
A. —  as  you  call  the  senior  clerk  —  she  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  herself,  bringing  in  a  copy  of  the  Vie  Pari- 
sienne.  The  way  she  settled  Mrs.  Gordon's  affairs  — 
you  remember,  No.  3875  you  catalogued  the  case  —  was 
masterly ;  and  Mrs.  G.  has  insisted  on  paying  5  per  cent, 
commission  on  the  recovered  property.  And  it  was 
Beryl  who  found  out  that  leakage  in  the  *  Variegated  Tea 
Rooms '  statement  of  accounts.  I  hadn't  spotted  it. 
No.  I  think  we  needn't  be  anxious  about  Beryl,  especially 
whilst  I  am  in  Wales  and  you  are  giving  yourself  up  — 
as  you  ought  to  do  —  to  your  mother.     But  it's  coming 

to  this,  Honoria "  (Enter  waiter.     David  says  "  Oh, 

damn,"  half  audibly.  Waiter  is  confirmed  in  his  sus- 
picions, but  as  he  likes  Honoria  immensely  resolves  to 
say  nothing  about  them  in  the  Stew^ard's  room.  She  is 
such  a  kind  young  lady.  He  explains  he  has  come  to 
take  the  tea  things  away,  and  Honoria  replies  "  Capital 
idea !  Now,  David,  you'll  be  able  to  have  the  whole  table 
for  your  accounts!").  .  .  ."It's  coming  to  this,  Hon- 


HONORIA  AGAIN  loi 

oria,"  says  David,  clearing  his  throat,  "  that  3^ou  will  soon 
be  wanting  not  to  be  bothered  any  more  with  the  affairs 
of  Frascr  and  Warren,  and  after  I  really  gret  into  the 
Law  business  I  too  shall  require  to  detach  myself.  Let 
us  therefore  be  thankful  that  Beryl  is  shaping  so  well. 
I  rather  think  this  summer  you  will  have  to  get  more 
office  accommodation  and  give  her  some  more  responsible 
women  to  help  her.  ,  .  ,  Now  finish  what  you  were  say- 
ing about  Major  Armstrong." 

Honoria:  "  Of  course  I  shall  marry  him  some  day.  I 
suppose  I  felt  that  the  day  after  I  first  met  him.  But  it 
amuses  me  to  be  under  no  illusion.  I  am  sure  this  is 
what  happened  two  years  ago  —  or  whenever  it  was  he 
came  back  wounded  from  your  favourite  haunt,  South 
Africa.  Michael  Rossiter  —  who  likes  '  Army  '  enor- 
mously —  I  think  they  were  at  school  or  college  together 

—  said  to  Linda,  his  wife:  'Here's  Armstrong.  One 
of  the  best.  Wants  to  marry.  Wife  must  have  a  little 
money,  otherwise  he'll  have  to  go  on  letting  Petworth 
jManor.  And  here's  Honoria  Fraser,  one  of  the  finest 
women  I've  ever  met.     Getting  a  little  long  in  the  tooth 

—  or  will  be  soon.  Let's  bring  'em  together  and  make 
a  match  of  it.' 

"  So  we  are  each  convoked  for  a  luncheon,  with  a 
projected  adjournment  to  Kew  —  which  yoii  spoilt  — 
and  there  it  is.  But  joking  apart.  '  Army '  is  a  dear 
and  I  am  sure  by  now  he  wants  me  even  more  than  my 
mone}^  —  and  I  certainly  want  him.  I'm  rising  thirty 
and  I  long  for  children  and  don't  want  'em  to  come  to 
me  too  late  in  life." 

David:  "  You  said  he  didn't  like  me.  .  .  ." 
Honoria:  "Oh  that  was  half  nonsense.  \  When  we 
all  met  last  Sunday  at  the  Rossiters  he  became  very 
jealous  and  suspicious.  Asked  who  was  that  whipper- 
snapper —  I  said  you  neither  whipped  nor  snapped,  es- 
pecially if  kindly  treated.     He  said  then  who  was  that 


102  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Madonna  j^oung  man  —  a  phrase  it  appears  he'd  picked 
up  from  Lord  Cromer,  who  used  to  apply  it  to  every 
new  arrival  from  the  Foreign  Office  —  Armstrong  was 
once  his  military  secretary.  I  was  surprised  to  hear  he 
thought  you  womanish  —  I  spoke  of  your  fencing,  rid- 
ing,—  was  just  going  to  add  '  hockey,'  and  '  croquet ' : 
then  remembered  they  might  be  thought  feminine  pas- 
times, so  referred  to  your  swimming.  Military  men  al- 
ways respect  a  good  swimmer;  I  fancy  l)ecause  many  of 
them  funk  the  water.  ...  I  was  just  going  on  to  explain 
that  you  were  a  cousin  of  a  great  friend  of  mine  and 
helped  me  in  my  business,  when  a  commissionaire  came 
from  Quansions  in  a  hansom  to  say  that  mother  was  feel- 
ing very  bad  again.  '  Army  '  and  I  went  back  in  the 
hansom,  but  I  was  crying  a  little  and  being  a  gentleman 
he  did  not  press  his  suit.  ..." 

Enter  Lady  Eraser's  nurse  on  tiptoe.  Says  in  a  very 
hushed  voice  "  Major  Armstrong  has  called.  Miss  Eraser. 
He  came  to  ask  about  Lady  Eraser.  I  said  if  anything 
she  was  a  bit  better  and  had  had  a  good  sleep.  He  then 
asked  if  he  might  see  you." 

Honoria:  "  Certainly.  Would  you  mind  showing 
him  in  here?     It  will  save  my  ringing  for  the  waiter." 

Enter  Major  Armstrong.  At  the  sight  of  David  he 
flushes  and  looks  fierce. 

Honoria:  "  So  glad  you've  come,  dear  Major.  I  hear 
mother  has  had  a  good  nap.  I  must  go  to  her  presently. 
You  know  David  Vavasour  Williams  ?  —  Davy !  You 
really  must  leave  out  your  second  name!  It  gets  so 
fatiguing  having  to  say  it  every  time  I  introduce  you," 

Armstrong  bows  stiffly  and  David,  standing  with  one 
well-shaped  foot  in  a  neat  boot  on  the  curb  of  the  fire- 
place, looks  up  and  returns  the  bow. 

Honoria:  "  This  won't  do.  You  are  two  of  my  dear- 
est friends,  and  yet  you  hardly  greet  one  another.  I 
always  determined   from  the  age  of  fifteen  onwards  I 


HONORIA  AGAIN  103 

would  never  pass  my  life  as  men  and  women  in  a  novel 
do  —  letting  misunderstandings  creep  on  and  on  where 
fifty  words  might  settle  them.  Army!  You've  often 
asked  me  to  marry  you  —  or  at  least  so  I've  understood 
your  broken  sentences.  I  never  refused  you  in  so  many 
words.  Now  I  say  distinctly  '  Yes  ' —  if  you'll  have  me. 
Only,  you  know  quite  well  I  can't  actually  marry  you 
whilst  mother  lies  so  ill.  .  ." 

Major  Armstrong,  very  red  in  the  face,  in  a  mixture 
of  exultation,  sympathy  and  annoyance  that  the  affairs 
of  his  heart  are  being  discussed  before  a  whipper-snap- 
per stranger  —  says:  "  Honoria!  Do  you  mean  it? 
Oh " 

Honoria:  "  Of  course  I  mean  it!  And  if  I  drew  back 
you  could  noW'  have  a  breach-of-promise-of-marriage  ac- 
tion, with  David  as  an  important  witness.  D.  V.  \N . 
—  who  by  the  bye  is  a  cousin  of  my  greatest  friend  — 
my  friend  for  life,  whether  you  like  her  —  as  you  ought 
to  do  —  or  not  —  Vivie  Warren.  .  .  .  David  is  reading 
for  the  Bar;  and  besides  being  your  witness  to  what  I 
have  just  said,  might —  if  you  deferred  your  action  long 
enough  —  be  your  Counsel.  .  .  .  Now  look  here,"  (with 
a  catch  in  the  voice)  "you  two  dear  things.  My  nerves 
are  all  to  bits.  ...  I  haven't  slept  properly  for  nights 
and  nights.  David,  dear,  if  you  iniist  talk  any  more 
business  before  you  go  down  to  Wales,  you  must  come 
and  see  me  to-morrow.  .  .  .  Darling  mother!  I  can't 
bear  the  thought  you  may  not  live  to  see  my  happiness." 
(David  discreetly  withdraws  without  a  formal  good- 
bye, and  as  he  goes  out  and  the  firelight  flickers  up,  sees 
Armstrong  take  Honoria  in  his  arms.) 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    BRITISH    CHURCH 

DAVID  had  read  hard  all  through  Hilary  term  with 
Mr.  Stansfield  of  the  Inner  Temple;  he  had  passed 
examinations  brilliantly;  he  had  solved  knotty  problems 
in  the  legal  line  for  Fraser  and  Warren,  and  as  already 
related  he  had  begun  to  go  out  into  Society.  Indeed, 
starting  from  the  Rossiters'  Thursdays  and  Praed's  studio 
suppers,  he  was  being  taken  up  by  persons  of  influence 
who  were  pleased  to  find  him  witty,  possessed  of  a  charm- 
ing voice,  of  quiet  but  unassailalDle  manners.  Opinions 
differed  as  to  his  good  looks.  Some  women  proclaimed 
him  as  adorable,  rather  Sphynx-like,  you  know,  but  quite 
fascinating  with  his  well-marked  eye-brows,  his  dark 
and  curly  lashes,  the  rich  warm  tints  of  his  complexion, 
the  unfathomable  grey  eyes  and  short  upper  lip  with  the 
down  of  adolescence  upon  it.  Other  women  without  as- 
signing any  reason  admitted  he  did  not  produce  any  effect 
on  their  sensibility  —  they  disliked  law  students,  they 
said,  even  if  they  were  of  a  literary  turn;  they  also  dis- 
liked curates  and  shopwalkers  and  sidesmen  .  .  .  and 
Sunday-school  teachers.  Give  them  manly  men ;  avowed 
soldiers  and  sailors,  riders  to  hounds,  sportsmen,  big 
game  hunters,  game-keepers,  chauffeurs  —  the  chauffeur 
was  becoming  a  new  factor  in  Society,  Bernard  Shaw's 
"superman" — prize-fighters,  meat-salesmen  —  then  you 
knew  where  you  were. 

Similarly  men  were  divided  in  their  judgment  of  him. 
Some  liked  him  very  much,  they  couldn't  quite  say  why. 

Others  spoke  of  him  contemptuously,  like  Major  Arm- 

104 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  105 

strong  had  done.  This  was  due  partly  to  certain  women 
being  inchned  to,  run  after  him  —  and  therefore  to 
jealousy  on  behalf  of  the  professional  lady-killer  of  the 
military  species  —  and  partly  to  a  vague  feeling  that  he 
was  enigmatic  —  Sphynx-like,  as  some  women  said.  He 
was  too  silent  sometimes,  especially  if  the  conversation 
amongst  men  tended  towards  racy  stories ;  he  was  sar- 
castic and  nimble-witted  when  he  did  speak.  And  he 
was  not  easily  bullied.  If  he  encountered  an  insolent 
person,  he  gave  full  effect  to  his  five  feet  eight  inches,  the 
look  from  his  grey  eyes  was  unwavering  as  though  he 
tacitly  accepted  the  challenge,  there  was  an  invisible 
rapier  hanging  from  his  left  hip,  a  poise  of  the  body 
which  expressed  dauntless  courage. 

Honoria's  stories  of  his  skill  in  fencing,  riding,  swim- 
ming, ball-games,  helped  him  here.  They  were  perfectly 
true  or  sufficiently  true  —  mutatis  mutandis  —  and  when 
put  to  the  test  stood  the  test.  David  indeed  found  it 
w  ell  during  this  first  season  in  Town  to  hire  a  hack  and 
ride  a  little  in  the  Park  —  it  only  added  one  way  and 
another  about  fifty  pounds  to  his  outlay  and  impressed 
certain  of  the  Benchers  who  were  beginning  to  turn  an 
eye  on  him.  One  elderly  judge  —  also  a  Park  rider  — 
developed  an  almost  inconvenient  interest  in  him ;  asked 
him  to  dinner,  introduced  him  to  his  daughters,  and 
wanted  to  know  a  deal  too  much  as  to  his  position  and 
prospects. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a  distinct  relief  from  a  public 
position,  from  this  increasing  number  of  town  acquaint- 
ances, this  broader  and  broader  track  strewn  with  cun- 
ning pitfalls,  to  lock  up  his  rooms  and  go  off  to  Wales 
for  the  Easter  holidays.  Easter  was  late  that  year  — 
or  it  has  to  be  for  the  purpose  of  my  story  —  and  David 
was  fortunate  in  the  weather  and  the  temperature.  If 
West  Glamorganshire  had  looked  richly,  grandiosely 
beautiful  in  full  summer,  it  had  an  exquisite,  if  quite  dif- 


io6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

ferent  charm  in  early  spring,  in  April.  The  great  trees 
were  spangled  with  emerald  leaf-buds ;  the  cherries,  tame 
and  wild,  the  black-thorn,  the  plums  and  pears  in  orchards 
and  on  old,  old,  grey  walls,  were  in  full  blossom  of  virgin 
white.  The  apple  trees  in  course  of  time  showed  pink 
buds.  The  gardens  were  full  of  wall-flowers  —  the  in- 
habited country  smelt  of  wall-flowers  —  purple  flags,  nar- 
cissi, hyacinths.  The  woodland  was  exquisitely  strewn 
with  primroses.  In  the  glades  rose  innumerable  spears 
of  purple  half-opened  bluebells;  the  eye  ranged  over  an 
anemone-dotted  sward  in  this  direction;  over  clusters  of 
smalt-blue  dog  violets  in  another.  Ladies'-smocks  and 
cowslips  made  every  meadow  delicious ;  and  the  banks 
of  the  lowland  streams  were  gorgeously  gilded  with  king- 
cups. The  mountains  on  fine  days  were  blue  and  purple 
in  the  far  distance ;  pale  green  and  grey  in  the  fore- 
ground. Under  the  April  showers  and  sun-shafts  they 
became  tragic,  enchanted,  horrific,  paradisiac.  Even  the 
mining  towns  were  bearable  —  in  the  spring  sunshine. 
If  man  had  left  no  effort  untried  to  pile  hideosity  on 
hideosity,  flat  ugliness  on  nauseous  squalor,  he  had  not 
been  able  to  affect  the  arch  of  the  heavens  in  its  lucid 
blue,  all  smokes  and  vapours  driven  away  by  the  spring 
winds ;  he  had  not  been  able  to  neutralize  the  vast  views 
visible  from  the  miners'  sordid,  one-storeyed  dwellings, 
the  panorama  of  hill  and  plain,  of  glistening  water,  tower- 
ing peaks,  and  larch  forests  of  emerald  green  amid  the 
blue-Scotch  pines  and  the  black-green  yews. 

David  in  previous  letters,  looking  into  his  father's 
budget,  had  shown  him  he  could  afford  to  keep  a  pony 
and  a  pony  cart.  Tliis  therefore  was  waiting  for  him 
at  the  little  station  with  the  gardener  to  drive.  But 
in  a  week,  David,  already  a  good  horseman,  had  learnt 
to  drive  under  the  gardener's  teaching,  and  then  was 
able  to  take  his  delighted  father  out  for  whole-day  trips 
to  revel  in  the  beauties  of  the  scenery. 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  107 

They  would  have  with  them  a  wicker  basket  contain- 
ing an  ample  lunch  prepared  by  the  generous  hands  of 
Bridget.  They  would  stop  at  some  spot  on  a  mountain 
pass;  tether  the  pony,  sit  on  a  plaid  shawl  thrown  over 
a  boulder,  and  feast  their  eyes  on  green  mountain-shoul- 
ders reared  against  the  pale  blue  sky;  or  gaze  across  ra- 
vines not  unworthy  of  Switzerland.  Or  the}-  would  put 
up  pony  and  cart  at  some  village  inn,  explore  old  battle- 
mented  churches  and  churchyards  with  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  century  headstones,  so  far  more  tasteful  and 
seemly  than  the  hideous  death  memorials  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  And  ever  and  again  the  old  father,  look- 
ing more  and  more  like  a  Druid,  would  recite  that  charm- 
ing Spring  song,  the  104th  Psalm;  or  fragments  of  Welsh 
poetry  sounding  very  good  in  Welsh  —  as  no  doubt 
Greek  poetry  does  in  properly  pronounced  Greek,  but 
being  singularly  bald  and  vague  in  its  references  to  earth, 
sea,  sky  and  flora  when  translated  into  plain  English. 

David  expressed  some  such  opinions  which  rather 
scandalized  his  father  who  had  grown  up  in  the  con- 
ventional school  of  unbounded,  unreasoning  reverence 
for  the  Hebrew,  Greek  and  Keltic  classics.  From  that 
they  passed  to  the  great  problems,  the  undeterminable 
problems  of  the  Universe;  the  awful  littleness  of  men  — 
mere  lice,  perhaps,  on  the  scurfy  body  of  a  shrinking,  dy- 
ing planet  of  a  fifth-rate  sun,  one  of  a  billion  other  suns. 
The  Revd.  Howel  like  most  of  the  Christian  clergy  of  all 
times  of  course  never  looked  at  the  midnight  sky  or  gave 
any  thought  to  the  terrors  and  mysteries  of  astronomy, 
a  science  so  modern,  in  fact,  that  it  only  came  into  real 
existence  two  or  three  hundred  years  ago;  and  is  even 
now  only  taken  seriously  by  about  ten  thousand  people 
in  Europe  and  America.  Wliere,  in  this  measureless 
universe  —  which  indeed  might  only  be  one  of  several 
universes  —  was  God  to  be  found?  A  God  that  had 
been  upset  by  the  dietary  of  a  small  desert  tribe,  who 


io8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

fussed  over  burnt  sacrifices  and  the  fat  of  rams  at  one 
time;  at  another  objected  to  censuses;  at  another  and  a 
later  date  wanted  a  human  sacrifice  to  placate  his  wrath; 
or  who  had  washed  out  the  world's  fauna  and  flora  in  a 
flood  which  had  left  no  geological  evidence  to  attest  its 
having  taken  place.  "  Did  you  ever  think  about  the 
Dinosaurs,  father?  "  said  David  at  the  end  of  some  such 
tirade  —  an  outburst  of  free-thinking  which  in  earlier 
years  might  have  upset  that  father  to  wrath  and  angry 
protest,  but  which  now  for  some  reason  only  left  him 
dazed  and  absent-minded.  (It  was  the  Colonies  that  had 
done  it,  he  thought,  and  the  studio  talk  of  that  dilettante 
architect.  By  and  bye,  David  would  distinguish  himself 
at  the  Bar,  marry  and  settle  down,  and  resume  the  or- 
thodox outlook  of  the  English  —  or  as  he  liked  to  call 
it  —  the  British  Church. ) 

"The  Dinosaurs,  my  boy?     No.     What  were  they?" 

David:  "  The  real  Dragons,  the  Dragons  of  the 
prime,  that  swarmed  over  England  and  Wales  and  Scot- 
land, and  Europe,  Asia,  and  North  America  —  and  I 
dare  say  Africa  too.  One  of  the  most  stupendous  facts 
of  what  you  call  '  creation,'  though  perhaps  only  one 
amongst  many  skin  diseases  that  have  aiiflicted  the  planet 
—  Well  the  Dinosaurs  went  on  developing  and  evolving 
and  perfecting  —  so  Rossiter  says  —  for  three  million 
years  or  so  —  Then  they  were  scrap-heaped.  What  a 
waste  of  creative  energy !  .  .  .  ." 

Father:  "  Ah  it's  Rossiter  who  puts  all  these  ideas 
into  your  head,  is  it?  " 

David  (flushing);  "Oh  dear  no!  I  used  to  think 
about  them  at  (is  about  to  say  '  Newnham,'  but  sub- 
stitutes '  Malvern')  — at  Malvern " 

Father  (drily)  :  "I'm  glad  to  hear  you  thought  about 
something  —  serious  —  at  any  rate  —  then,  in  the  midst 
of  your  scrapes  and  truancies  —  but  go  on,  dear  boy. 
It's  a  delight  to  me  to  hear  you  speak.     It  reminds  me  — 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  109 

I  mean  your  voice  does  —  of  your  poor  mother.  You 
know  I  loved  her  very  tenderly,  David,  and  though  it 
is  all  past  and  done  with  I  believe  I  should  forgive  her 
nozi',  if  she  only  came  back  to  me.  I'm  sometimes  so 
lonely,  boy.  I  wish  you'd  marry  and  settle  down  here 
—  there's  lots  of  room  for  you  —  some  nice  girl  —  and 
give  me  grandchildren  before  I  die.  But  I  suppose  I 
must  be  patient  and  wait  first  for  your  call  to  the  Bar. 
What  a  dreary  long  time  it  all  takes !  Why  can't  they, 
with  one  so  clever,  shorten  the  term  of  probation?  Or 
why  wait  for  that  to  marry?  I  could  give  you  an  al- 
lowance.    As  soon  as  you  were  called  you  could  then 

follow  the  South  Wales  circuit well,  go  on  about 

your  Dinosaurs.  I  seem  to  remember  Professor  Owen 
invented  them  —  but  Jie  never  wavered  in  his  faith  and 
was  the  great  opponent  of  that  rash  man,  Darwin.  Oh,  / 
remember  now  the  old  controversies  —  what  a  stalwart 
was  the  Bishop  of  Winchester!  They  couldn't  bear  him 
at  their  Scientific  meetings  —  there  was  one  at  Bath,  if 
I  recollect  right,  and  he  put  them  all  to  the  right-about. 
What  about  your  Dinosaurs?  I'm  not  denying  their 
existence ;  it's  only  the  estimates  of  time  that  are  so 
ridiculous.  God  made  them  and  destroyed  them  in  the 
great  Flood,  of  which  their  fossil  remains  are  the  evi- 
dence   " 

David  however  would  desist  from  pursuing  such  futile 
arguments;  feel  surprised,  indeed,  at  his  own  outbreaks, 
except  that  he  hated  insincerity.  However  new  and  dis- 
turbing to  his  father  were  these  flashes  of  the  New  Learn- 
ing, in  his  outward  conduct  he  was  orthodox  and  ex- 
tremely well-behaved.  The  spiritual  exercises  of  the 
Revd.  Howel  had  become  jejune,  and  limited  very  much 
by  his  failing  sight.  The  recovery  after  the  operation 
had  come  too  late  in  life  to  bring  alx)ut  any  expansion  of 
public  or  private  devotions.  Family  prayers  were  re- 
duced to  the  recital  from  memory  of  an  exhortation,  a 


no  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

confession,  and  an  absolution,  followed  by  the  Lord's 
Prayer  and  a  benediction.  Services  in  the  church  were 
limited  to  Morning  and  Evening  prayers,  with  Commun- 
ion on  the  first  Sunday  in  the  month,  and  a  sermon  fol- 
lowing Morning  prayer.  There  was  no  one  to  play  the 
organ  if  the  schoolmistress  failed  to  turn  up  —  as  she 
often  did.  David  however  scrupulously  turned  the 
normal  congregation  of  five  —  Bridget,  the  maid  of  the 
time-being,  the  gardener-groom,  the  sexton,  and  a  baker- 
church-warden  —  into  six  by  his  unvarying  attendance. 
In  the  course  of  half  his  stay  the  rumour  of  his  being 
present  and  of  his  good  looks  and  great  spiritual  im- 
provement attracted  quite  a  considerable  congregation, 
chieliy  of  young  women  and  a  few  sheepish  youths;  so 
that  his  father  was  at  one  and  the  same  time  exhilarated 
and  embarrassed.  Was  this  to  be  a  Church  revival  ?  If 
so,  he  readily  pardoned  David  his  theories  on  the  Dino- 
saurs and  his  doubts  as  to  the  unvarying  evidence  of 
Divine  Wisdom  in  the  story  of  Creation. 

If  any  other  consideration  than  a  deep  affection  for 
this  dear  old  man  and  repentance  for  his  unwise  ebulli- 
tions of  Free  Thought  had  guided  David  in  the  matter 
it  was  an  utter  detestation  of  the  services  and  the  influ- 
ence of  the  Calvinist  Chapel  in  the  village,  the  Little 
Bethel,  presided  over  by  Pastor  Prytherch,  a  fanatical 
blacksmith,  who  alternated  spells  of  secret  drunkenness 
and  episodes  of  animalism  by  orgies  of  self-abasement, 
during  which  he  —  in  half-confessing  his  own  lapses  — 
attributed  freely  and  unrebukedly  the  same  vices  to  the 
male  half  of  his  overflowing  congregation.  These  out- 
pourings — "  Pechadur  truenus  wyi  i !  Arglwydd  mad- 
den i  mi !  " —  extempore  prayers,  psalms  chanted  with  a 
swaying  of  the  body,  hymns  sung  uproariousl3^  scripture 
read  with  an  accompaniment  of  groans,  hysteric  laughter, 
and  interjections  of  assent,  and  a  rambling  discourse  — 
lasting  fully  an  hour,  were  in  the  Welsh  language;  and 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  iii 

David  on  his  three  or  four  visits  —  and  it  can  be  im- 
agined what  a  sensation  they  caused!  The  Vicar's  son 
—  himself  perhaps  about  to  confess  his  sins!  —  under- 
stood very  little  of  the  subject  matter,  save  from  the  ex- 
travagant gestures  of  the  participants.  But  he  soon  made 
up  his  mind  that  religion  for  religion,  that  expressed  by 
the  English  — "  Well,  father,  you  are  right  —  the  '  Brit- 
ish '  " —  Church  in  Wales  was  many  hundred  times  su- 
perior in  reasonableness  and  stability  to  the  negroid  ebul- 
litions of  the  Calvinists.  As  a  matter  of  fact  they  were 
scarcely  more  followers  of  the  reformer  Calvin  than  they 
were  of  Ignatius  Loyola;  it  was  just  a  symptomatic  out- 
break of  some  prehistoric  Iberian,  Silurian  form  of  wor- 
ship, something  deeply  planted  in  the  soil  of  Wales,  some- 
thing far  older  than  Druidism,  something  contemporary 
with  the  beliefs  of  Neolithic  days. 

Eighteen  years  ago,  much  of  Wales  was  as  enslaved 
by  whiskey  as  are  still  Keltic  Scotland,  Keltiberian  Ire- 
land, Lancashire,  London  and  wicked  little  Kent.  It  was 
only  saved  from  going  under  completely  by  decennial 
religious  revivals,  which  for  three  month-s  or  so  were 
followed  by  total  abstinence  and  a  fierce-eyed  continence. 

Just  about  this  time  —  during  David's  extended  spring 
holiday  in  Whales  (he  had  brought  man)^  law  books  down 
with  him  to  read)  — there  had  begun  one  of  the  news- 
paper-made-famous Revivals.  It  was  led  by  a  young 
prophet  —  a  football  half-back  or  whatever  they  are 
called,  though  I,  who  prefer  thoroughness,  would,  if  I 
played  football,  offer  up  the  whole  of  my  back  to  bear 
the  brunt  —  who  saw  visions  of  Teutonically-conceived 
angels  with  wings,  who  heard  "  voices,"  was  in  constant 
communication  with  the  Redeemer  of  Mankind  and  on 
familiar  terms  with  God,  had  a  lovely  tenor  voice  and 
moved  emotional  men  and  hysterical,  love-sick  women  to 
tears,  even  to  bellowings  by  his  prayers  and  songs.  He 
had  for  some  weeks  been  confined  in  publicity  to  half- 


112  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

contemptuous  paragraphs  in  the  South  Wales  Press. 
Then  the  Daily  Chronicle  took  him  up.  Their  well- 
known,  emotional-article  writer,  Mr.  Sigsbee,  saw 
■"copy"  in  him,  and  —  to  do  him  justice  (for  there  I 
agreed  with  him)  —  a  chance  to  pierce  the  armour  of  the 
hand-in-glove-with-Government  distillers,  so  went  down 
to  Wales  to  write  him  up.  For  three  weeks  he  became 
more  interesting  than  a  Cabinet  Minister.  Indeed  Cab- 
inet Ministers  or  those  who  aspired  to  become  such  at 
the  next  turn  of  the  wheel  truckled  to  him.  Some  were 
afraid  he  might  become  a  small  Messiah  and  lead  Wales 
into  open  revolt;  others  that  he  might  smash  the  whiskey 
trade  and  impair  the  revenue.  Mr.  Lloyd  George  going 
to  address  a  pro-Boer  meeting  at  Aberystwith  (was  it?) 
encountered  him  at  a  railway  junction,  attended  by  a 
court  of  ex-footballers  and  reformed  roysterers,  and  said 
in  the  hearing  of  a  reporter  "  I  must  fight  with  the  Sword 
of  the  Flesh  ;  but  you  fight  with  the  Sv^^ord  of  the  Spirit  " 

—  whatever  that  may  have  meant  —  and  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  complete  accuracy  of  remembrance  —  I  only  know 
I  felt  very  angry  with  the  whole  movement  at  the  time, 
because  it  delayed  indefinitely  the  Daily  Chronicle's  re- 
view of  my  new  book.  Well  this  Evan  —  in  all  such 
movements  an  Evan  is  inevitable  —  Evan  Gwyllim  Jones 

—  with  the  black  eyes,  abundant  black  hair,  beautiful 
features  (he  was  a  handsome  lad)  and  glorious  voice, 
addressed  meetings  in  the  open  air  and  in  every  available 
building  of  four  walls.  Thousands  withdrew  their  names 
from  foot-ballery,  nigh  on  Two  Millions  must  have  taken 
the  pledge  —  and  not  merely  an  anti-whiskey  pledge  but 
a  fierce  renunciation  of  the  most  diluted  alcohol  as  well; 
and  approximately  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  con- 
fessed their  sins  of  unchastity  and  swore  to  be  reborn 
Galahads  for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  It  was  a  spiritual 
Spring-cleaning,  as  drastic  and  as  overdone  as  are  the 
domestic  upheavals  known  by  that  name.     But  it  did  a 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  113 

vast  deal  of  good,  all  the  same,  to  South  Wales;  and 
though  it  was  a  seventh  wave,  the  tide  of  temperance, 
thrift,  cleanliness,  bodily  and  spiritual,  has  risen  to  a 
higher  level  of  average  in  the  beautiful  romantic  Prin- 
cipality ever  since.  Evan  Gwyllim  Jones,  however,  over- 
did it.  He  had  to  retire  from  the  world  to  a  Home  — 
some  said  even  to  a  Mental  Hospital.  Six  months  after- 
wards he  emerged,  cured  of  his  "  voices,"  much  plumper, 
and  —  perhaps  —  poor  soul  —  shorn  of  some  of  his  il- 
lusions and  ideals ;  but  he  married  a  grocer's  widow  of 
Cardiff,  and  the  Daily  Chronicle  mentioned  him  no  more. 

The  infection  of  his  meetings  however  penetrated  to 
the  agricultural  district  in  which  Pontystrad  was  situated. 
Five  villages  went  completely  off  their  heads.  The 
blacksmith-pastor  had  to  be  put  under  temporary  re- 
straint. Quite  decent-looking,  unsuspected  folk  con- 
fessed to  far  worse  sins  than  they  had  ever  committed. 
There  arose  an  aristocracy  of  outcasts.  Three  inns 
where  little  worse  than  bad  beer  was  sold  were  gutted, 
respectable  farmers'  wives  dranl<:  Eau-de-Cologne  instead 
of  spirits,  several  over-due  marriages  took  place,  there 
were  a  number  of  premature  births,  and  the  membership 
of  the  football  clubs  was  disastrously  reduced.  Such  ex- 
citement was  generated  that  little  work  was  done,  and 
the  illegitimate  birth  rate  of  west  Glamorganshire  —  al- 
ways high  —  for  the  opening  months  of  1903  became 
even  higher. 

David  was  enlisted  by  the  employers  of  labour,  the 
farmers,  chemical  works,  mining  and  smelting-works 
managers,  squires,  and  postmasters  to  restore  order.  He 
preached  against  the  Revivalists.  Not  with  any  lack  of 
sympathy,  any  apology  for  the  real  ills  which  they  de- 
nounced. He  spoke  with  emphasis  against  the  loosening 
of  morality,  recommended  early  marriage,  and  above  all 
education:  denounced  the  consumption  of  alcohol  so 
strenuously  and  convincedly  that  then  and  there  as  he 


114  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

spoke  he  resolved  himself  henceforth  to  abstain  from 
anything  stronger  than  lager  beer  or  the  lighter  French 
and  German  wines.  But  he  threw  cold  water  resolutely 
on  the  fantastical  nonsense  that  accompanied  these  emo- 
tional outbursts  of  so-called  religion;  invited  his  hearers 
to  study  —  at  any  rate  elementarily  —  astronomy  and 
biology ;  did  not  run  down  football  but  advised  a  moder- 
ate interest  only  being  taken  in  such  futile  sports ;  rec- 
ommended volunteering  and  an  acquaintance  with  rifles  as 
far  preferable,  seeing  that  we  always  stood  in  danger  of 
a  European  war  or  of  a  drastic  revival  of  insolent  con- 
servatism. 

Then  he  made  his  appeal  to  the  women.  He  spoke 
of  the  dangers  of  this  hysteria;  the  need  there  was  for 
level-headed  house-keeping  women  in  our  councils ; 
how  they  should  first  qualify  for  and  then  demand  the 
suffrage,  having  already  attained  the  civic  vote. 
(Here  some  of  the  employers  of  labour  disapproved, 
plucked  at  his  arm  or  hem  of  his  reefer  jacket,  and  one 
squire  lumbered  off  the  platform.)  But  he  held  on, 
warmins:  with  a  theme  that  hitherto  had  hardlv  inter- 
ested  him.  His  speeches  were  above  the  heads  of  his 
peasant  audiences ;  but  they  were  a  more  sensitive  harp 
to  play  on  than  the  average  Anglo-Saxon  audience. 
Many  women  wept,  only  decorously,  as  he  outlined  their 
influence  in  a  reformed  village,  a  purified  Principality. 
The  men  applauded  frantically  because,  despite  some 
prudent  reserves,  there  seemed  to  be  a  promise  of  revolt 
in  his  suggestions.  David  felt  the  electric  thrill  of  the 
orator  in  harmony  with  his  audience;  who  for  that  reason 
will  strive  for  further  triumphs,  more  resounding  perora- 
tions. He  introduced  scraps  of  Welsh  —  all  his  auto- 
intoxicated  brain  could  remember  (How  physically  true 
was  that  taunt  of  Dizzy's  — "  Inebriated  with  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  own  verbosity!  "). 

And  the  delighted  audience  shouted  back  "  You're  the 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  115 


man  we  want!  Into  Parliament  you  shall  go,  Davy- 
bach  "  and  much  else.  So  David  restored  the  five  villages 
to  sobriety  in  life  and  faith,  yet  left  them  with  a  new 
enthusiasm  kindled.  Before  he  departed  on  his  return 
to  London  and  the  grind  of  his  profession,  he  had  effected 
another  change.  Because  he  had  spoken  as  he  had  spoken 
and  touched  the  hearts  of  emotional  people,  they  came 
trickling  back  to  his  father's  church,  to  the  "  British  " 
Church,  as  David  now  called  it.  Little  Bethel  was  empty, 
and  the  pastor-blacksmith  not  yet  out  of  the  asylum  at 
Swansea.  The  Revd.  Howel  Williams  trod  on  air.  His 
sermons  became  terribly  long  and  involved,  but  that  was 
no  drawback  in  the  minds  of  his  Welsh  auditory;  though 
it  made  his  son  swear  inwardly  and  reconciled  him  to  the 
approaching  return  to  Fig  Tree  Court.  The  old  Druid 
felt  inspired  to  convince  the  hundred  people  present  that 
the  Church  they  had  returned  to  was  the  Church  of  their 
fathers,  not  only  back  to  Roman  times,  when  Glamor- 
ganshire was  basking  in  an  Italian  civilization,  but  further 
still.  He  showed  how  the  Druids  were  rather  to  be  de- 
scribed as  Ant^-Christian  than  Anti  —  with  an  i;  and 
played  ponderously  on  this  quip.  In  Druidism,  he  ob- 
served —  I  am  sure  I  cannot  think  why,  but  it  was  his 
hobby  —  you  had  a  remarkable  foreshadowing  of  Chris- 
tianity ;  the  idea  of  the  human  sacrifice,  the  Atonement, 
the  Communion  of  Saints,  the  mystic  Vine,  which  he 
clumsily  identified  with  the  mistletoe,  and  what  not  else. 
He  read  portions  of  his  privately-published  Tales  of  Tal- 
icssin.  In  short  such  happiness  radiated  from  his  pink- 
cheeked  face  and  recovered  eyes  that  David  regretted  in 
no  wise  his  own  lapses  into  conventional,  stereotyped 
religion.  The  Church  of  Britain  might  be  stiff  and  stom- 
achered,  as  the  offspring  of  Elizabeth,  but  it  was  stately, 
it  was  respectable  —  as  outwardly  was  the  great  virgin 
Queen  —  and  it  was  easy  to  live  with.  Only  he  coun- 
selled his  father  to  do  two  things:  never  to  preach  for 


ii6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 


L\. 


more  than  half-an-hour  —  even  if  it  meant  keeping  a 
small  American  clock  going  inside  the  pulpit-ledge ;  and  to 
obtain  a  curate,  so  that  the  new  enthusiasm  might  not 
cool  and  his  father  verging  on  seventy,  might  not  over- 
strain himself.  He  pointed  out  that  by  letting  off  most 
of  the  glebe  land  and  pretermitting  David's  "  pocket- 
money  "  he  might  secure  a  young  and  energetic  Welsh- 
speaking  curate,  the  remainder  of  whose  living-wage 
would  —  he  felt  sure  —  be  found  out  of  the  diocesan 
funds  of  St.  David's  bishopric. 

The  Revd.  Howel  let  him  have  his  way  (This  was 
after  David  had  returned  to  Fig  Tree  Court)  and  by  the 
following  June  a  stalwart  young  curate  was  lodged  in 
the  village  and  took  over  the  bulk  of  the  progressive 
church  work  from  the  fumbling  hands  of  the  dear  old 
Vicar.  He  was  a  thoroughly  good  sort,  this  curate, 
troubled  by  no  possible  doubts  whatever,  a  fervent  tee- 
totaller, a  half-iback  or  whole  back  —  I  forget  which  — 
at  football,  a  good  boxer,  and  an  unwearied  organizer. 
Little  Bethel  was  sold  and  eventually  turned  into  a  seed- 
merchant's  repository  and  drying-room.  The  curate  in 
course  of  time  married  the  squire's  daughter  and  I  dare 
say  long  afterwards  succeeded  the  Revd.  Howel  Vaughan 
Williams  when  the  latter  died  —  but  that  date  is  still  far 
ahead  of  mj  story.  At  any  rate  —  isn't  it  droll  how 
these  things  come  about  ?  —  David's  action  in  this  matter, 
undertaken  he  hardly  knew  w^hy  —  did  much  to  fetter 
Mr.  Lloyd  George's  subsequent  attempts  to  disestablish 
the  British  Church  in  Wales. 

What  did  Bridget  think  of  all  this,  of  the  spiritual  evo- 
lution of  her  nursling,  of  his  identity  with  the  vicious, 
shifty,  idle  youth  whose  uncanny  gift  of  design  seemed 
to  have  been  completely  lost  after  his  stay  in  South 
Africa?  David  Vavasour  Williams  had  left  home  to  the 
relief  of  his  father  and  the  whole  village,  if  even  to  the 
half-pitying  regret  of  his  old  nurse,  in  1896.     He  had 


THE  BRITISH  CHURCH  117 

spent  a  year  or  more  in  Mr.  Praed's  studio  studying  to 
be  an  architect  or  a  scene  painter.  Then  somehow  or 
other  he  did  not  get  on  with  Mr.  Praed  and  he  enhsted 
impulsively  in  a  South  African  Police  force  (in  the 
Army,  it  seemed  to  Bridget).  He  had  somehow  become 
involved  in  a  war  with  a  South  African  people,  called 
by  Bridget  "  the  Wild  Boars  " ;  he  is  wounded  or  ill  in 
hospital;  is  little  heard  of,  almost  presumed  dead. 
Throughout  all  these  five  years  he  scarcely  ever  writes  to 
his  forgiving  father;  maintains  latterly  a  sulky  silence. 
Then,  suddenly  in  the  summer  of  1901,  returns;  preceded 
only  by  a  telegram  but  apparently  vouched  for  by  this  Mr. 
Praed;  and  announces  himself  as  having  forgotten  his 
Welsh  ^nd  most  of  the  events  of  his  youth,  but  having 
acquired  a  changed  heart,  and  an  anxiety  to  make  up  for 
past  ill-behaviour  by  a  present  good  conduct  which  seems 
almost  miraculous. 

Well:  miracles  were  easily  believed  in  by  Bridget. 
Perhaps  his  father's  prayers  had  been  answered.  Provi- 
dence sometimes  meted  out  an  overwhelming  boon  to 
really  good  people.  David  was  certainly  a  Vavasour,  if 
there  was  nothing  Williamsy  about  his  looks.  .  .  His 
mother,  in  Mrs.  Bridget  Evanwy's  private  opinion,  had 
been  a  hussy.  .  .  .Was  David  his  father's  son  ?  Hadn't 
she  once  caught  Mrs.  Howel  Williams  kissing  a  young 
stranger  behind  a  holly  bush  and  wasn't  that  why  Bridget 
had  really  been  sent  away?  She  had  returned  to  take 
charge  of  the  pretty,  motherless  little  boy  when  she  herself 
was  a  widow  disappointed  of  children,  and  the  child  was 
only  three.  Would  she  ever  turn  against  her  nursling 
now,  above  all,  when  he  was  showing  himself  such  a  son 
to  his  old  father  ?  Not  she.  He  might  be  who  and  what 
he  would.  He  was  giving  another  ten  years  of  renewed 
life  to  the  dear  old  Druid  and  the  continuance  of  a  com- 
fortable home  to  his  old  Nannie. 

They  talked  a  great  deal   up   at   Little  Bethel   of   a 


ii8  MRS.  WARREN.'S  DAUGHTER 

"  change  of  heart."  Perhaps  such  things  really  took 
place,  though  Bridget  Evanwy  from  a  shrewd  appraise- 
ment of  the  Welsh  nature  doubted  it.  She  would  like 
to,  but  couldn't  cjuite  believe  that  an  angel  from  heaven 
had  taken  possession  of  David's  body  and  come  here  to 
play  a  divine  part;  because  David  sometimes  talked  so 
strangely  —  seemed  not  only  to  doubt  the  existence  of 
a  heavenly  host,  but  even  of  Something  beyond,  so  awful 
in  Bridget's  mind  that  she  hardly  liked  to  define  it  in 
words,  though  in  her  own  Welsh  tongue  It  was  so  earthily 
styled  "  the  Big  Man." 

However,  at  all  costs,  she  would  stand  by  David  .  .  . 
and  without  quite  knowing  why,  she  decided  that  on  all 
future  visits  she  herself  would  "  do  out  "  his  room,  would 
attend  to  him  exclusively.  The  "  girl  "  was  a  chatterer, 
albeit  she  looked  upon  Mr.  David  with  eyes  of  awe  and  a 
most  respectful  admiration,  while  David  on  his  part 
scarcely  bestowed  on  her  a  glance. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DAVID    IS    CALLED    TO    THE    BAR 

1902  was  the  year  of  King  Edward's  break-down  in 
health  but  of  his  ultimate  Coronation ;  it  was  the  year 
in  which  Mr.  Arthur  Balfour  became  premier ;  it  was 
the  year  in  which  motors  became  really  well-known, 
familiar  objects  in  the  London  streets,  and  hansoms  (I 
think)  had  to  adopt  taximeter  clocks  on  the  eve  of  their 
displacement  by  taxi-cabs.  It  was  likewise  the  year  in 
which  the  South  African  War  was  finally  wound  up  and 
the  star  of  Joseph  Chamberlain  paled  to  its  setting,  and 
Mrs.  Pankhurst  and  her  daughter  Christabel  founded  the 
Women's  Social  and  Political  Union  at  Manchester. 

In  1903,  the  Fiscal  controversy  absorbed  much  of 
public  attention,  the  War  Office  was  once  more  reformed, 
women's  skirts  still  swept  the  pavement  and  encumbered 
the  ball-room,  a  Peeress  wrote  to  the  Times  to  complain 
of  Modern  Manners,  Surrey  beat  Something-or-other  at 
the  Oval,  and  modern  Cricket  was  voted  dull. 

In  1904,  the  Russo-Japanese  War  was  concluded,  and 
Fraser  and  Warren  received  a  year's  notice  from  the 
Midland  Insurance  Co.  that  they  must  vacate  their  prem- 
ises on  the  fifth  floor  of  Nos.  88-90  Chancery  Lane. 
The  business  of  F.  and  W.  had  grown  so  considerable 
that,  as  the  affairs  of  the  Midland  Insurance  Co.  had 
slackened,  it  became  intolerable  to  hear  the  lift  going  up 
and  down  to  the  fifth  floor  all  through  the  day.  The 
housekeeper  also  thought  it  odd  that  a  well-dressed 
young  gentleman  should  steal  in  and  up,  day  after  day, 

119 


I20  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

after  office  hours  to  work  apparently  alone  in  Fraser 
and  Warren's  partners'  room.  Fraser  and  Warren  over 
the  hand  of  its  junior  partner,  Mrs.  Claridge,  accepted 
the  notice.  Their  business  had  quite  overgrown  these  in- 
conveniently situated  offices  and  a  move  to  the  West  End 
was  projected.  Mrs.  Claridge's  scheme  for  week-end 
cottages  had  been  enormously  successful  and  had  put 
much  money  not  only  into  the  coffers  of  Fraser  and  War- 
ren but  into  the  banking  account  of  that  clever  architect, 
Francis  Brimley  Storrington. 

[I  find  I  made  an  absurd  mistake  earlier  in  this  book 
in  charging  the  too  amorous  architect  with  a  home  at 
"  Storrington."  His  home  really  was  in  a  midland  gar- 
den city  which  he  had  designed,  but  his  name  —  a  not  un- 
common one  —  was  Storrington.] 

In  the  autumn  of  1902,  poor  Lady  Fraser  died.  In 
January,  1903,  Honoria  married  the  impatient  Colonel 
Armstrong.  In  January,  1904,  she  had  her  first  baby  — 
a  boy. 

At  the  close  of  1904  Beryl  Claridge  made  proposals  to 
Honoria  Fraser  relative  to  a  change  in  the  constitution 
of  Fraser  and  Warren.  Honoria  was  to  have  an  interest 
still  as  a  sleeping  partner  in  the  concern  and  some  voice 
in  its  management  and  policy.  But  she  was  to  take  no 
active  share  of  the  office  work  and  "  Warren  "  was  to 
pass  out  of  it  altogether.  Beryl  pointed  out  it  was 
rather  a  farce  when  the  middle  partner  —  she  herself 
had  been  made  the  junior  partner  a  year  before  —  was 
perpetually  and  mysteriously  absent,  year  after  year, 
engaged  seemingly  on  work  of  her  own  abroad.  Her 
architect  semi-husband  moreover,  who  if  not  in  the  firm 
was  doing  an  increasing  share  of  its  business,  wanted 
to  know  more  about  Vivien  Warren.  "  Was  she  or  was 
she  not  the  daughter  of  the  'notorious  '  Mrs.  Warren  ;  be- 
cause if  so.  .  ,  ."  He  took  of  course  a  highly  virtuous 
line.     Like  so  many  other  people  he  compounded  for  the 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR        121 

sins  he  was  inclined  to  by  being  severe  towards  the  mis- 
doings of  others.  His  case  —  he  would  say  to  Beryl 
when  they  were  together  at  Chelsea  —  was  sui  generis, 
quite  exceptional,  they  were  really  in  a  way  perfectly 
good  people — Tout  savoir  c'est  tout  pardonncr,  etc.; 
whereas  the  things  that  were  said  about  Mrs.  Warren! 
.  .  .  And  though  Vivien  was  nothing  nearer  sin  than  be- 
ing her  daughter,  still  if  it  were  known  or  known  more 
widely  that  she  was  the  Warren  in  Fraser  and  Warren, 
why  the  wives  of  the  wealthier  clergy,  for  example,  and 
a  number  of  Quakeresses  would  withdraw  their  affairs 
from  the  firm's  management.  Whereas  if  only  his  little 
Berry  could  become  the  boss,  he  knew  where  to  get  "  big 
money "  to  put  behind  the  Firm's  dealings.  The  idea 
was  all  right ;  an  association  for  the  special  management 
on  thoroughly  honest  lines  of  women's  affairs.  They'd 
better  get  rid  of  that  hulking  young  clerk,  Bertie  Adams, 
and  staff  the  entire  concern  with  capable  women.  He 
himself  would  always  remain  in  the  background,  giving 
them  ideas  from  time  to  time,  and  if  any  were  taken  up 
merely  being  paid  his  fees  and  commissions. 

David  Vavasour  Williams,  privately  consulted  by  Norie, 
put  forward  no  objection.  He  disliked  Beryl  and  was 
increasingly  shy  of  his  rather  clandestine  work  on  the  fifth 
floor  of  the  INIidland  Insurance  Chambers;  besides,  if 
and  when  he  were  called  to  the  Bar,  he  would  have  to 
cease  all  connection  with  Fraser  and  Warren.  The  con- 
sent of  Vivie  was  obtained  through  the  Power  of  Attorney 
she  had  left  behind.  A  new  deed  of  partnership  was 
drawn  up.  Honoria  insisted  that  Vivien  Warren  must 
be  bought  out  for  Three  Thousand  pounds,  which  amount 
was  put  temporarily  to  the  banking  account  of  David 
Vavasour  Williams ;  she  herself  received  another  Three 
Thousand  and  a  small  percentage  of  the  future  profits 
and  a  share  in  the  direction  of  affairs  of  The  Women's 
Co-operative  Association    {Fraser  and  Claridge)   so 


122  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

long  as  she  left  a  capital  of  Five  Thousand  pounds  at 
their  disposal. 

So  in  1905  David  with  Three  Thousand  pounds  pur- 
chased an  annuity  of  £210  a  year  for  Vivien  Warren. 
That  investment  would  save  Vivie  from  becoming  at  any 
time  penniless  and  dependent,  and  consequently  would 
subserve  the  same  purpose  for  her  cousin  and  agent, 
David  V.  Williams. 

Going  to  the  C.  and  C.  Bank,  Temple  Bar  branch,  to 
take  stock  of  Vivie's  affairs,  he  found  a  Thousand  pounds 
had  been  paid  in  to  her  current  account.  Ascertaining 
the  name  of  the  payee  to  be  L.  M.  Praed,  he  hurried  off 
at  the  first  opportunity  to  Praed's  studio.  Praed  was 
entertaining  a  large  party  of  young  men  and  w6men 
to  tea  and  the  exhibition  of  some  wild  futurist  drawings 
and  a  few  rather  striking  designs  for  stage  scenery  and 
book  covers.  David  had  perforce  to  keep  his  questions 
bottled  up  and  take  part  in  the  rather  vapid  conversation 
that  was  going  on  between  young  men  with  glabre  faces 
and  high-pitched  voices  and  women  with  rather  wild  eyes. 

[It  struck  David  about  this  time  that  women  were 
getting  a  little  out  of  hand,  strained,  over-inclined  to 
laugh  mirthless  laughter,  greedy  for  sensuality,  sensa- 
tion, sincerity,  sweetmeats.  Something.  Even  if  they 
satisfied  some  fleeting  passion  or  jealousy  b}^  marrying, 
they  soon  wanted  to  be  de-married,  separated,  divorced, 
to  don  male  costume,  to  go  on  the  amateur  stage  and  act 
Salome  parts  on  Sunday  afternoons  that  most  ladies  of 
the  real  Stage  had  refused;  while  the  men  that  went 
about  with  them  in  these  troops  from  restaurant  to 
restaurant,  studio  to  studio,  music  hall  to  cafe  chantant, 
Brighton  to  Monte  Carlo,  Sandown  to  Goodwood,  were 
shifty,  too  well-dressed,  too  near  neutrality  in  sex,  with- 
out defined  professions,  known  by  nicknames  only,  spend- 
thrifts, spongers,  bankrupts,  and  collectors  of  needless 
'bric-d-brac.  ] 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR         123 

However  this  mob  at  last  quitted  Praddy's  premises 
and  he  and  David  were  left  alone. 

Praed  vawned,  and  almost  intentionallv  knocked  over 
an  easel  with  a  semi-obscene  drawing  on  it  of  a  Sphynx 
with  swelling  breasts  embracing  a  lean  young  man  against 
his  will. 

David:  "Praddy!  why  do  you  tolerate  such  people 
and  whv  prostitute  your  studio  to  such  unwholesome 
art?" 

Praed:  "  My  dear  David !  This  is  indeed  Satan  re- 
buking sin.  Why  there  are  three  designs  here  —  one 
I've  just  knocked  over  —  beastly,  wasn't  it?  —  that  you 
left  with  me  when  j^ou  went  off  at  a  tangent  to  South 
Africa.  .  .  .Really,  we  ought  to  have  some  continuity 
you  know.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  agree  with  3^ou.  .  .  .  I'm  sick  of  the  whole 
business  of  this  Nouvel  Art  and  L'Art  Nouveau,  about 
Aubrey  Beardsley  and  the  disgusting  'nineties  generally 
—  But  what  will  you?  If  Miss  Vivie  Warren  had  con- 
descended to  accept  me  as  a  husband  she  might  have 
brought  a  wholesome  atmosphere  into  my  life  and  swept 
away  all  this  .  .  .  inspired  me  perhaps  with  some  final 
ambition  for  the  little  that  remains  of  my  stock  of  energy. 
.  .  .  Heigh-ho !  Well :  what  is  the  quarrel  now  ?  The 
life  I  lead,  the  people  who  come  here?  " 

David:  "  No.  I  hardly  came  about  that;  though  dear 
old  Praddy,  I  wish  I  had  time  to  look  after  you.  .  .Per- 
haps later.  .  .  .  No  :  what  I  came  to  ask  was  :  what  did 
you  mean  the  other  day  by  paying  in  a  Thousand  Pounds 
to  Vivie  Warren's  account  at  her  bank?  She's  not  in 
want  of  money  so  far  as  I  know,  and  you  can't  be  so  very 
rich,  even  though  you  design  three  millionaire's  houses  a 
year.  Wlio  gave  you  the  money  to  pay  in  to  my  —  to 
Vivie's  account?  " 

Praed:  "  Well,  when  Vivie  herself  comes  to  ask  me, 
p'raps    I'll   tell;   but   I   can't   see   how   it   concerns  you. 


124  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Why  not  stop  and  dine  —  a  I'imprevu,  but  I  dare  say  my 
housekeeper  can  rake  something  together  or  it  may  not 
be  too  late  to  send  out  for  a  pate.  We  can  then  talk  of 
other  things.     When  are  you  going  to  get  your  call?  " 

David:  "  Sorry,  dear  old  chap,  but  I  can't  stay  to 
dinner.  I'm  not  going  anywhere  else  but  I've  got  some 
papers  I  must  study  before  I  go  to  bed.  But  I'll  stop 
another  half-hour  at  any  rate.  Don't  ring  for  lights  or 
turn  up  the  electric  lamps.  I  would  sooner  sit  in  the 
dark  studio  and  put  my  question.  Who  has  given  me 
that  thousand  pounds  ?  " 

Praed:  "  That's  my  business  :  /  haven't!  I  shan't  give 
or  lend  Vivie  a  penny  till  she  consents  to  marry  me. 
As  to  the  rest,  take  it  and  be  thankful.  You're  not  cer- 
tain to  get  any  more  and  I  happen  to  know  it  had  what 
you  would  call  a  '  clean  origin.'  " 

David:  "  You  mean  it  didn't  come  from  those 
'Hotels'?" 

Praed:  "  Well,  at  any  rate  not  directly.  Don't  be  a 
romantic  ass,  a  tiresome  fool,  and  give  me  any  trouble 
about  it.  A  certain  person  I  imagine  must  have  heard 
that  Frascr  and  Warren  had  been  wound  up  and  couldn't 
bear  the  thought  of  your  being  hard  up  in  consequence. 
.  .  .  doesn't  know  you  got  a  share  of  the  purchase- 
money.  .  .  ." 

H:  *  *  * 

David  decided  at  any  rate  for  the  present  to  accept  the 
addition  to  his  capital  —  you  can  perhaps  push  principle 
too  far;  or,  once  you  plunge  into  affairs,  you  cease  to 
be  quite  so  high-souled.  At  any  rate  nothing  in  David's 
middle-class  mind  was  so  horrible  as  penury  and  the  im- 
potence that  comes  with  it.  How  many  months  or  years 
would  lie  ahead  of  him  before  fees  could  be  gained  and  a 
professional  income  be  earned?  Besides  he  wanted  to 
take  Bertie  Adams  into  his  service  as  a  Clerk.  A  barris- 
ter must  have  a  clerk,  and  David  in  his  peculiar  circum- 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR        125 

stances  could  only  engage  one  acquainted  more  or  less 
with  his  secret. 

So  Bertie  Adams  fulfilled  the  ambition  he  had  cherished 
for  three  years  —  he  felt  all  along  it  was  coming  true. 
And  when  David  was  called  to  the  Bar  —  which  he  was 
with  all  the  stately  ceremonial  of  a  Call  night  at  the 
Inner  Temple  in  the  Easter  term  of  1905,  more  elbow 
room  was  acquired  at  Fig  Tree  Court,  and  Bertie  Adams 
was  installed  there  as  clerk  to  Mr.  David  Vavasour  Wil- 
liams, who  had  residential  chambers  on  the  third  floor, 
and  a  fair-sized  Office  and  small  private  room  on  the 
second  floor.  Bertie's  mother  had  "  washed  "  for  both 
Honoria  and  Vivie  in  their  respective  dwellings  for  years, 
and  for  David  after  he  came  to  live  at  Fig  Tree  Court. 
A  substantial  douceur  to  the  "  housekeeper  "  had  facili- 
tated this,  for  in  the  part  of  the  Temple  where  lies  Fig 
Tree  Court  the  residents  do  not  call  their  ministrants 
"  laundresses,"  but  "  housekeepers."  Curiously  enough 
the  accounts  were  always  tendered  to  the  absent  Vivie 
Warren,  but  Mrs.  Adams  noted  no  discrepancy  in  their 
being  paid  by  her  son  or  in  an  unmarried  lady  living  in 
the  Temple  under  the  name  of  David  Williams. 

Installed  as  clerk  and  advised  by  his  employer  to  court 
one  of  the  fair  daughters  of  the  housekeeper  (Mrs. 
Laidly)  with  a  view  to  marriage  and  settling  down  in 
premises  hard-by,  Bertie  Adams  (who  like  David  had 
spent  his  time  well  between  1901  and  1905  and  was  now 
an  accomplished  and  serviceable  barrister's  clerk)  soon 
set  to  work  to  chum  up  with  other  clerks  in  this  clerical 
hive  and  get  for  his  master  small  briefs,  small  chances 
for  defending  undefended  cases  in  which  hapless  women 
were  concerned. 

But  before  we  deal  with  the  career  of  David  at  the 
Bar,  which  of  course  did  not  properly  commence  —  even 
as  a  brilliant  junior  —  till  the  early  months  of  1906, 
let  us  glance  at  the  way  in  which  he  had  passed  the  in- 


126  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

tervening  space  of  time  between  his  return  from  Wales 
in  May,  1902,  and  the  spending  of  his  Long  Vacation 
of  1905  as  an  Esquire  by  the  Common  Law  of  England 
called  to  the  Bar,  and  entitled  to  wear  a  becoming  grey 
wig  and  gown. 

He  had  begun  in  1900  by  studying  Latin,  Norman 
French  —  so  greatly  drawn  on  in  law  terms  —  and  Eng- 
lish History.  In  the  summer  of  1901,  by  one  of  those 
subterfuges  winked  at  then,  he  had  obtained  two  rooms, 
sublet  to  him  by  a  member  of  the  Inn,  in  Fig  Tree 
Court,  Inner  Temple.  In  the  autumn  of  that  year,  hav- 
ing made  sure  of  his  parentage  and  his  finance,  he  had 
approached  the  necessary  authorities  with  a  view  to  his 
being  admitted  a  member  of  the  Inner  Temple,  which 
meant  filling  up  a  form  of  declaration  that  he,  David 
Vavasour  Williams,  of  Pontystrad,  Glamorgan,  a  British 
subject,  aged  twenty- four,  son  of  the  Revd.  Howel 
Vaughan  Williams,  Clerk  in  Holy  Orders,  of  Pontystrad 
in  the  County  of  Glamorgan,  was  desirous  of  being  ad- 
mitted a  Student  of  the  Honourable  Society  of  the  Inner 
Temple  for  the  purpose  of  being  called  to  the  Bar  or  of 
practising  under  the  Bar;  and  that  he  would  not  either 
directly  or  indirectly  apply  for  or  take  out  any  certificate 
to  practise  directly  or  indirectly  as  a  Pleader,  Convey- 
ancer or  Draftsman  in  Equity  without  the  special  permis- 
sion of  the  Masters  of  the  Bench  of  the  said  Honourable 
Society  of  the  Inner  Temple. 

Further,  David  declared  v/ith  less  assurance  but  per- 
haps within  the  four  corners  of  the  bare  truth  that  he 
had  not  acted  directly  or  indirectly  in  the  capacity  of  a 
Solicitor,  Attorney-at-law,  Writer  to  the  Signet  or  in 
about  thirteen  other  specified  legal  positions;  that  he  was 
not  a  Chartered,  Incorporated  or  Professional  Account- 
ant ("  A  good  job  we  changed  the  device  of  the  Firm,"  he 
thought),  a  Land  Agent,  a  Surveyor,  Patent  Agent,  Con- 
sulting Engineer,  or  even  as  a  clerk  to  any  such  officer. 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR        127 

Which  made  him  rather  shivery  about  what  he  had  been 
doing  for  Frascr  and  Warren,  but  there  was  little  risk 
that  any  one  would  find  out  —  And  finally  he  declared 
that  he  was  not  in  Trade  or  an  undischarged  bank- 
rupt. 

The  next  and  most  difficult  step  was  to  obtain  two  sep- 
arate Certificates  from  two  separate  barristers  each  of 
five  years'  standing,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  what  he 
stated  himself  to  be.  This  required  much  thinking  out, 
and  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  he  did  not  go  down  as 
promised  and  spend  his  Christmas  and  New  Year  with  his 
father. 

Instead  he  wrote  to  Pontystrad  explaining  how  import- 
ant it  was  he  should  get  admitted  as  a  Student  in  time  to 
commence  work  in  Hilary  term.  Did  his  father  know 
any  such  luminary  of  the  law  or  any  two  such  luminaries? 
His  father  regretted  that  he  only  knew  of  one  such  bar- 
rister of  over  five  years'  standing:  the  distinguished  son 
of  an  old  Cambridge  chum.  To  him  he  wrote,  venturing 
to  recall  himself,  the  more  eagerly  since  this  son  of  an 
old  friend  was  himself  a  Welshman  and  already  dis- 
tinguished by  his  having  entered  Parliament,  served  with 
the  Welsh  Party,  written  a  book  on  Welsh  history,  and 
married  a  lady  of  considerable  wealth. 

Next  David  applied  to  Rossiter  with  the  result  —  as 
we  have  seen  —  that  he  got  an  introduction  to  Mr.  Stans- 
field.  So  he  obtained  from  Mr.  Price  and  Mr.  Stansfield 
the  two  certificates  to  the  effect  that  "  David  Vavasour 
Williams  has  been  introduced  to  me  by  letter  of  introduc- 
tion from  the  Revd.  Howel  Williams  "  (or  "  Professor 
Michael  Rossiter,  F.R.S.")  "and  has  been  seen  by  me; 
and  that  I,  Mark  Stansfield,  Barrister-at-law,  King's 
Counsel  "  (or  "  John  Price,  Barrister-at-law,  Member  of 
Parliament")  "believe  the  said  David  Vavasour  Wil- 
liams to  be  a  gentleman  of  respectability  and  a  proper 
person  to   be   admitted    a    Student   of   the    Honourable 


128  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Society  of  the  Inner  Temple  with  a  view  to  being  called 
to  the  Bar." 

Copies  of  the  letters  of  introduction  accompanied  the 
two  certificates.  These  of  course  were  not  obtained 
without  several  visits  to  the  unsuspicious  guarantors ;  or 
at  least  one  to  Mr,  Price  in  Paper  Buildings,  for  whom 
it  was  enough  that  David  claimed  to  be  Welsh  and  showed 
a  very  keen  interest  in  the  Welsh  tongue  and  its  Indo- 
German  affinities,  and  three  or  four  to  Mr.  Mark  Stans- 
field,  K.C.,  one  of  the  nicest,  kindliest  and  most  learned 
persons  David  had  ever  met,  whom  he  grieved  deeply  at 
decei\'ing.  Stansfield  had  a  high  opinion  of  Rossker. 
The  fact  that  he  recommended  David  was  quite  sufficient 
to  secure  his  "  guarantee."  But  apart  from  that,  he  felt 
himself  greatly  drawn  towards  this  rather  shy,  grave, 
nice-looking  j^oung  fellow  with  the  steady  eyes  and  the 
keen  intelligence.  He  had  him  to  dine  and  to  lunch; 
drew  him  out  —  as  far  as  David  thought  it  prudent  to 
go  —  and  was  surprised  David  had  never  been  to  a 
University  ("  Only  to  Malvern  —  and  then  I  studied  with 
an  architect  in  London  —  Who  ?  Mr.  Praed,  A.R. A. — 
but  then  I  travelled  for  a  bit,  and  after  that  I  felt  more 
than  ever  I  wanted  to  go  in  for  the  Bar  " —  said  David, 
with  a  charming  smile  which  lit  up  his  young  face  ordi- 
narily so  staid).  Stansfield  consented  that  David  should 
come  and  read  with  him,  and  in  many  ways  facilitated  his 
progress  so  materially  and  so  kindly  that  more  than  once 
the  compunctious  young  Welshman  thought  of  discarding 
the  impersonation ;  and  might  have  done  so  had  not  this 
most  estimable  Stansfield  died  of  pneumonia  in  the  last 
year  of  David's  studenthood. 

Of  course  the  preliminary  examination  was  easily  and 
quickly  passed.  David  translated  his  bit  of  Caesar's 
commentaries,  answered  brilliantly  the  questions  about 
Alfred  the  Great,  the  Anglo-Norman  kings,  the  Constitu- 
tions of  Clarendon,  Magna  Charta  and  Mortmain,  Henry 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR        129 

the  Eighth  and  the  Reformation,  the  Civil  War  and  Pro- 
tectorate of  Cromwell,  the  Bill  of  Rights  and  the  Holy 
Alliance.  He  paid  his  fees  and  his  "caution"  money; 
he  ate  the  requisite  six  dinners  —  or  more,  as  he  found 
them  excellent  and  convenient  —  in  each  term,  attended 
all  the  lectures  that  interested  him,  and  passed  the  sub- 
sidiary examinations  on  them  with  fair  or  even  high 
credit ;  and  finally  got  through  his  "  Call-to-the-Bar " 
examination  with  tolerable  success ;  at  any  rate  he  passed. 
A  friend  of  the  deceased  Stansfield  —  whose  death  was 
always  one  of  the  scars  in  Vivie's  memory  —  introduced 
him  to  one  of  the  Masters  of  the  Bench  who  signed  his 
"  call  "  papers.  He  once  more  made  a  declaration  to  the 
effect  that  he  was  not  a  person  in  Holy  Orders,  that  he 
was  not  a  Solicitor,  Attorney-at-law,  Writer  to  the  Signet, 
etc.,  etc.,  a  Chartered,  Incorporated  or  Professional  Ac- 
countant; and  again  that  if  called  to  the  Bar,  he  would 
never  become  a  member  of  the  abhorred  professions 
over  and  over  again  enumerated;  and  was  duly  warned 
that  without  special  permission  of  the  Masters  of  the 
Bench  of  the  Inner  Temple  he  might  not  practise  "  under 
the  Bar" — whatever  that  may  mean  (I  dare  say  it  is 
some  low-down  procedure,  only  allowed  in  times  of 
scarcity).  Then  after  having  his  name  "screened" 
for  twelve  days  in  all  the  Halls  of  the  four  Inns,  and 
going  in  fear  and  trembling  that  some  one  might  turn 
up  and  object,  he  finally  received  his  call  to  the  Bar  on 
April  22  (if  April  22  in  that  year  was  on  a  Sunday, 
then  on  the  following  Monday)  and  was  "  called  "  at  the 
Term  Dinner  where  he  took  wine  with  the  Masters.  He 
remembered  seeing  present  at  the  great  table  on  the  dais, 
besides  the  usual  red-faced  generals  and  whiskered  admir- 
als, simpering  statesmen,  and  his  dearly  loved  friend, 
Michael  Rossiter  —  representing  Science, —  a  more  sin- 
ister face.  This  was  the  well-known  philanthropist  and 
race-horse  breeder,  Sir  George  Crofts,  Bart.,  M.P.  for  a 


I30  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Norfolk  borough.  Their  eyes  met,  curiously  interlocked 
for  a  moment.  Sir  George  wondered  to  himself  where 
the  dooce  he  had  seen  that  type  of  face  before,  thor 
grey  eyes  with  the  dark  lashes.  "  Gad !  he  reminds  me 
of  Kitty  Warren!  Well,  I'll  be  damned "  (he  was 
eventually)  "  I  wonder  whether  the  old  gal  had  a  son  as 
well  as  that  spitfire  Vivie?!" 

Michael  whispered  a  word  or  two  to  one  of  the  Mas- 
ters, and  David  w^as  presently  summoned  to  attend  the 
Benchers  and  their  distinguished  guests  in  the  inner 
chamber  to  which  they  withdrew  for  wine  and  dessert. 
Rossiter  made  room  for  him,  and  he  had  to  drink  a  glass 
of  port  with  the  Benchers.  Every  one  was  very  gracious. 
Rossiter  said:  "  I  was  a  sort  of  godfather  to  him,  don't 
you  know.  David !  you  must  do  me  credit  and  make  haste 
to  take  silk  and  become  a  Judge."  Crofts  moved  from 
where  he  sat  next  to  a  Bishop.  ("  Damn  it  all!  I  like 
bein'  respectable,  but  why  "will  they  always  put  me  next  a 
Bishop  or  an  Archdeacon  ?  It  spoils  all  my  best  stories.") 
He  came  over  —  dragging  his  chair  —  to  Rossiter  and 
said  "  I  say !  Will  you  introduce  me  to  our  young  friend 
here?"  He  was  duly  introduced.  "  H'ni,  Wihiams? 
That  doesn't  tell  me  much.  But  somehow  your  face  re- 
minds me  awfully  of  —  of  —  some  one  I  used  to  know. 
J'ever  have  a  sister?  "     "  No,"  said  David. 

Crofts,  he  noticed,  had  aged  very  much  in  the  inter- 
vening eight  years.  He  must  now  be  no  more  than  — 
58?  But  he  had  become  very  stout  and  obviously  suf- 
fered from  blood  pressure  without  knowing  it.  He 
moved  away  a  little,  and  David  heard  him  talking  to  a 
Master  about  Lady  Crofts,  who  had  come  up  to  London 
for  the  season  and  how  they  were  both  very  anxious 
about  his  boy — "  Yes,  he  had  two  children,  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  bless  'em  —  The  hoy  had  been  ill  with  measles  and 
wasn't  makin'  quite  the  quick  recovery  they  expected. 
What  an  anxiety  children  were,  weren't  they?     Though 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR         131 

we  wouldn't  be  without  'em,  would  we?  "  The  Bencher 
assented  out  of  civility,  though  as  a  matter  of  fact  he 
was  an  old  bachelor  and  detested  children  or  anything 
younger  than  twenty-one. 

David  after  his  call  was  presented  with  a  bill  to  pay 
of  £99.  io.y.  His  father  hearing  of  this,  insisted  on  send- 
ing him  a  cheque  for  £150  out  of  his  savings,  adding  he 
should  be  deeply  hurt  if  it  was  not  accepted  and  no  more 
said  about  it.  How  soon  was  David  coming  down  to  see 
South  Wales  once  more  gloriously  clothed  with  spring? 

[Much  of  this  review  of  the  years  between  1901  and 
1905,  many  of  these  sweet  remembrances  are  being  taken 
from  Vivie's  brain  as  she  lies  on  a  hard  bed  in  191 3,  mus- 
ing over  the  past  days  when,  despite  occasional  frights  and 
anxieties,  she  was  transcendently  happy.  Oh  "  Sorrow's 
Crown  of  Sorrow,  the  remembering  happier  days !  "  She 
recalled  the  articles  she  used  to  write  from  the  Common 
Room  or  Library  of  the  Inn ;  how  well  they  were  received 
and  paid  for  by  the  editors  of  daily  and  weekly  journals; 
what  a  lark  they  were,  when  for  instance  she  would  raise 
a  deljate  in  the  Saturday  Remew:  "  Should  Women  be 
admitted  to  the  Bar?  "  Or  an  appeal  in  the  Daily  Nczvs 
to  do  away  with  the  Disabilities  of  Women.  How  poor 
Stansfield,  before  he  died,  said  he  had  never  met  any 
young  fellow  with  a  tenderer  heart  for  women,  and  ad- 
vised him  to  marry  whilst  he  still  had  youth  and  fire. 
She  remembered  David's  social  success  at  the  great  houses 
in  the  West  End.  How  he  might  have  gone  out  into 
Society  and  shone  more,  much  more,  only  he  had  to  con- 
sider prudence  and  expense ;  the  curious  women  who  fell 
in  love  with  him,  and  whom  he  had  gently,  tactfully  to 
keep  at  arm's  length.  She  remembered  the  eager  discus- 
sions in  the  Temple  Debating  Society,  or  at  the  "  Moots  " 
of  Gray's  Inn,  her  successes  there  as  an  orator  and  a  close 
reasoner;  how  boy  students   formed  ardent   friendships 


132  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

for  her  and  prophesied  her  future  success  in  ParHament, 
would  have  her  promise  to  take  them  into  the  Cabinet 
which  David  was  to  form  when  an  electorate  swept  him 
into  power  and  sent  the  antiquated  old  rotters  of  that 
day  into  the  limbo  of  deserved  occlusion. 

She  saw  and  heard  once  more  the  amused  delight  of 
Honoria  Armstrong  over  her  success,  and  the  latent 
jealousy  of  the  uxorious  Colonel  Armstrong  if  she  came 
too  often  to  see  Honoria  in  Sloane  Street:  And  she  re- 
membered —  Oh  God !  Hoiu  she  remembered  —  the 
close  association  in  those  three  priceless  years  with  her 
"godfather"  Michael  Rossiter;  Rossiter  who  shaped 
her  mind  —  it  would  never  take  a  different  turn  —  who 
was  patient  with  her  stupidity  and  petulance;  an  elder 
brother,  a  robust  yet  tactful  chaffer;  a  banisher  of  too 
much  sensibility,  a  constant  encouragement  to  effort  and 
success.  Rossiter,  she  knew,  with  her  woman's  instinct, 
was  innocently  in  love  with  her,  but  believed  all  the  time 
he  was  satisfying  his  craving  for  a  son  to  train,  a  disciple 
who  might  succeed  him :  for  he  still  believed  that  David 
when  he  had  been  called  to  the  Bar  and  had  flirted  awhile 
with  Themis,  would  yet  turn  his  great  and  growing  abili- 
ties to  the  service  of  Science. 

And  Mrs.  Rossiter  in  those  times :  Vivie  smiled  at 
the  thought  of  her  undefined  jealousy.  She  was  anxious 
to  be  civil  to  a  young  man  of  whom  Michael  thought  so 
highly.  She  sympathized  with  his  regret  that  they  had 
no  children,  but  why  could  he  not  take  up  with  one  of 
her  cousin  Rennet's  boys  from  Manchester,  or  Sophy's 
son  from  Northallerton,  or  one  of  his  own  brother's  or 
sister's  children?  How  on  earth  did  he  become  ac- 
quainted with  this  young  man  from  South  Wales?  But 
she  was  determined  not  to  be  separated  in  any  way  from 
her  husband,  and  so  she  sat  with  them  as  often  and  as 
long  as  she  could  in  the  library.  The  studio-laboratory 
she  could  not  stand  with  its  horrid  smell  of  chemicals; 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR        133 

she  also  dreaded  vaguely  that  vivisection  went  on  there  — 
Michael  of  course  had  a  license,  though  he  was  far  too 
tender-hearted  to  torture  sentient  creatures.  Still  he  did 
odd  tilings  with  frogs  and  rats  and  goats  and  monkeys ; 
and  her  dread  was  that  she  might  one  day  burst  in  on  one 
of  these  sacrifices  to  science  and  see  a  transformed  Mich- 
ael, blood-stained,  wielding  ai  knife  and  dangerous  if 
interrupted  in  his  pursuit  of  a  discovery. 

But  as  the  long  talks  and  conferences  of  the  two 
friends  —  really  not  so  far  separated  in  age  as  one  of 
them  thought  —  generally  took  place  in  the  library,  she 
assisted  at  a  large  proportion  of  them.  Rossiter  would 
not  have  had  it  otherwise,  though  to  David  she  was  at 
times  excessively  irksome.  Her  husband  had  long  viewed 
her  as  a  lay  figure  on  these  occasions.  He  rarely  replied 
to  her  flat  remarks,  her  inconsequent  platitudes,  her  yawns 
and  quite  transparent  signals  that  it  was  time  for  the  vis- 
tor  to  go.  Sometimes  David  took  her  hints  and  left :  he 
had  no  business  to  make  himself  a  bore  to  any  one. 
Sometimes  however  Michael  at  last  roused  to  conscious- 
ness of  the  fretful  little  presence  would  say  "What? 
Sweety?  You  still  up.  Trot  off  to  bed,  my  poppet,  or 
you'll  lose  the  roses  in  your  cheeks." 

The  roses  in  Mrs.  Rossiter's  cheeks  at  that  time  were 
beginning  to  be  a  trifle  eczematous  and  of  a  fixed  quality. 
Nevertheless,  though  she  tossed  her  head  a  little  as  she 
took  up  her  "  work  "  and  swished  out  of  the  great  heavy 
door  —  which  David  opened  —  she  was  pleased  to  think 
that  Michael  cared  for  her  complexion  and  was  solicitous 
about  her  rest. 

And  Vivie's  eyes  swam  a  little  as  she  thought  about 
the  death  of  Mark  Stansfield,  and  the  genuine  tears  that 
flowed  down  the  cheeks  of  his  pupils  when  they  learnt  one 
raw  February  morning  from  the  housekeeper  of  his 
chambers  that  he  had  died  at  daybreak.  "  A  better  man 
never  lived  "  they  agreed.     And  they  were  right. 


134  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 


And  she  smiled  again  as  she  thought  of  some  amongst 
those  pupils,  the  young  dogs  of  those  days,  the  lovers 
of  actresses  of  the  minor  order  —  ballet  girls,  it  might 
have  been ;  of  the  larks  that  went  on  sometimes  w^ithin 
and  without  the  staid  precincts  of  the  Temple.  Harm- 
less larks  they  were;  but  such  as  she  had  to  withdraw 
from  discreetly.  She  pla3^ed  lawn  tennis  with  them,  she 
fenced  surprisingly  well;  but  she  had  refused  to  join 
the  "  Devil's  Own  " — the  Inns  of  Court  Volunteers,  for 
prudent  reasons;  and  though  it  had  leaked  out  that  she 
was  a  good  swimmer  —  that  tiresome  impulsive  Honoria 
had  spread  it  abroad  —  she  resolutely  declined  to  give 
proofs  of  her  prowess  in  swimming  baths.  Her  asso- 
ciates were  not  so  young  as  the  undergraduates  she  had 
met  in  Newnham  days :  they  were  an  average  ten  years 
older.  Their  language  at  times  made  David  blush,  but 
they  had  more  discretion  and  reserve  than  the  University 
student,  and  they  respected  his  desire  to  withdraw  himself 
into  himself  occasionally,  and  to  abstain  from  their  noisier 
amusements  without  questioning  his  camaraderie. 

At  this  point  in  her  smiling  reminiscences,  the  wardress 
clanged  open  the  door  and  slammed  down  a  mug  of  cocoa 
and  a  slab  of  brown  bread;  and  rapped  out  some  orders 
in  such  a  martinet  utterance  that  they  were  difficult  to 
understand.  (Don't  be  alarmed!  She  isn't  about  to  be 
executed  for  having  deceived  the  Benchers  of  the  Inner 
Temple  in  1905 ;  she  is  only  in  prison  for  a  suffragist 
offence).] 

I  can't  wind  up  this  chapter  somehow  without  more 
or  less  finishing  the  story  of  Beryl  Claridge.  She  has 
been  a  source  of  anxiety  to  my  wife  —  who  has  read 
these  chapters  one  by  one  as  they  left  my  typewriter. 
"  Was  it  wise  to  bring  her  in?  "  "  Well,  but  my  dear, 
she  was  rather  a  common  type  of  the  New  Woman  in 
the  early  nineteen   hundreds."     "Yes  —  but " 

Of  course  the  latent  anxiety  was  that  she  might  end 


DAVID  IS  CALLED  TO  THE  BAR        135 

up  respectably.  And  so  she  did.  In  1906,  the  first 
Mrs.  Storrington  died  at  Ware  (Ware  was  where  the 
architect  husband  had  his  legitimate  home).  She  had 
long  been  ill,  increasingly  ill  of  some  terrible  form  of 
anaemia  which  had  followed  the  birth  of  her  fourth  child. 
She  slowly  faded  away,  poor  thing;  and  about  the  time 
David  was  returning  from  a  triumphant  Christmas  and 
New  Year  at  Pontystrad  —  the  Curate  and  his  young 
wife  had  made  a  most  delightful  partie  carree  and  David 
had  kissed  the  very  slightly  protesting  Bridget  under 
the  native  mistletoe  —  Mrs.  Storrington  breathed  her  last, 
while  her  faithless  yet  long  forgiven  Francis  knelt  by 
her  bedside  in  agonies  of  unavailing  grief. 

Well :  she  died  and  was  buried,  and  her  four  children, 
ranging  from  nine  to  sixteen,  sobbed  very  much  and 
mourned  for  darling  Mummie  without  the  slightest 
suspicion  ("  'twas  better  so,"  she  had  always  thought) 
that  Dad  had  poisoned  her  wells  of  happiness  ever  since 
he  took  up  with  that  minx  at  Cambridge  in  the  very  year 
in  which  long-legged  Claribel  was  born.  A  few  months 
after  the  poor  lady  was  consigned  (under  a:  really  lovely 
cenotaph  designed  by  her  husband)  to  Ware  Churchyard 
—  no,  it  was  to  Ware  cemetery ;  Dad  introduced  them  all 
to  a  very  sprightly  and  good-looking  widow,  Mrs.  Clar- 
idge,  who  had  also  been  bereaved  years  ago  and  left  with 
two  perfect  ducks  of  children,  four  and  five  years  old,  to 
whom  Claribel  took  instinctively  (the  elder  ones  sniffed 
a  little,  disliking  "kids"). 

Then  about  Christmas  time,  1906,  Dad  told  them  that 
Mrs.  Claridge  v/as  going  to  make  him  happy  by  coming 
to  tend  his  motherless  children;  was  going  to  be  his  wife. 
Francis,  the  eldest,  stomped  about  the  garden  at  Ware  and 
swore  he  would  go  back  to  Rugby  during  the  holidays ; 
Elspeth,  the  gaunt  girl  of  fourteen  and  Agnes,  a  dreamy 
and  endearing  child,  cried  themselves  to  sleep  in  each 
other's  arms.  Claribel,  however,  quite  approved.  And 
whether  they  liked  it  or  not,  in  January,  1907,  the  mar- 


136  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

riage  took  place  —  at  the  Registrar's  —  and  Beryl  came  to 
live  for  a  short  time  at  Ware,  bringing  ducksome  Margery 
and  adorable  Podge.  In  less  than  a  month  Beryl  had 
won  over  all  her  step-children,  except  Francis,  who  held 
out  till  Easter,  but  was  reduced  to  allegiance  by  the  ham- 
pers she  sent  to  him  at  Rugby  — ;  in  three  months  they 
had  all  moved  to  a  much  sweller  house  on  the  Chelsea 
Embankment.  Father  —  Beryl  voted  "  Dad  "  a  little 
lower-middle  class  —  Father  had  somehow  become  con- 
nected with  some  great  business  establishment  of  which 
Mother  was  the  head.  Together  they  were  making  pots 
of  money.  Francis  would  go  to  Sandhurst,  Elspeth  to  a 
finishing  school  in  Paris  (her  ambition),  and  the  others 
would  spend  the  fine  months  of  the  year  rollicking  with 
Margery  and  Podge  on  the  Sussex  coast. 

In  1907,  also,  they  became  aware  that  their  new 
mother  was  not  alone  in  the  world.  A  stately  lady 
whose  eyes  seemed  once  to  have  done  a  deal  of  weeping 
(they  were  destined  alas!  to  do  much  more,  for  three 
of  her  gallant,  handsome  sons  were  killed  in  the  War, 
and  that  finally  killed  the  poor  old  Dean  of  Thetford), 
who  wore  a  graceful  Spanish  mantilla  of  black  lace  when 
in  draughty  places,  came  to  see  them  after  they  had 
moved  to  Garden  Corner  on  the  Chelsea  Embankment. 
She  turned  out  to  be  the  mother  of  Mrs.  Ber}^  and  was 
quite  inclined  to  be  their  grandmother  as  well  as  Mar- 
gery's and  Podge's.  But  her  husband  the  Dean  was  — 
it  appeared  —  too  great  an  invalid  to  come  up  to  town. 

The  second  Mrs.  Storrington,  who  was  a  woman  of 
boundless  energy,  could  work  all  day  with  secretaries, 
and  could  dance  all  night,  gave  brilliant  parties  in  the 
season  at  her  large  Chelsea  house.  But  she  never  in- 
vited to  them  Mr.  David  Vavasour  Williams,  that  rising 
young  barrister  who  had  become  so  famous  as  a  pleader 
of  the  causes  of  friendless  women. 


I 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    SHILLITO    CASE 

N  the  autumn  of  1905,  increase  among  women  of  the 
idea  of  full  citizenship  made  rapid  strides.  There 
was  a  feeling  in  the  air  that  Balfour  must  soon  resign 
or  go  to  the  country,  that  a  Liberal  Ministry  would  suc- 
ceed to  power,  and  that  being  Liberal  it  could  scarcely, 
in  reason  or  with  any  logic,  refuse  to  enlarge  the  fran- 
chise to  the  advantage  of  the  female  half  of  the  com- 
munity. These  idealizers  of  the  Liberal  Party,  which 
had  really  definitely  ceased  to  be  Liberal  in  1894,  had 
a  rude  awakening.  Annie  Kenney  and  Christabel  Pank- 
hurst  dared  to  act  as  if  they  were  men,  and  asked  Sir 
Edward  Grey  at  his  Manchester  meeting  in  October,  1905, 
if  a  Liberal  Administration  would  give  Votes  to  Women, 
should  it  be  placed  in  power  at  the  next  Election.  An- 
swer they  had  none,  from  the  platform;  but  the  male 
audience  rose  in  their  hundreds,  struck  these  audacious 
hussies  in  the  face,  scratched  and  slapped  them  (this  was 
the  role  of  the  bo3As),  and  hustled  them  out  into  the 
street,  bleeding  and  dishevelled.  Here  for  attempting 
to  explain  the  causes  of  their  expulsion  thc)^  were  ar- 
rested by  the  police,  and  the  following  morning  were 
sent  to  prison,  having  declined  to  pay  the  fines  illegally 
imposed  on  them. 

This  incident  made  a  great  impression  on  the  news- 
paper-reading public,  because  at  that  time  the  Press 
boycott  on  the  Woman  Suffrage  movement  had  not  set 
in.  It  gave  David  much  to  think  about,  and  he  found 
Honoria   Eraser   and   several   of   his   men   and   women 

137 


13,8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

friends  had  joined  the  Woman  Suffrage  movement  and 
were  determined  that  the  new  Liberal  Government  should 
not  shirk  the  issue;  an  issue  on  which  many  members 
of_  Parliament  had  been  returned  as  acquiescent  in  the 
principle.  On  that  account  they  had  received  the  whole- 
hearted support  of  many,  women  owing  allegiance  to  the 
Liberal  Party. 

At  first  of  course  the  new  Government  was  too  busy 
in  allotting  the  loaves  and  fishes  of  Office  and  in  handing 
out  the  peerages,  baronetcies,  knighthoods,  Governor- 
ships, private  secretaryships,  and  promotions  among  the 
■civij  servants  which  had  —  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point 
on  it  —  been  purchased  by  large  and  small  contributions 
to  the  Party  Chest. 

[Such  a  procedure  seems  to  be  inseparable  from  our 
present  Party  system.  In  this  respect  the  Conservatives 
are  no  better  than  the  Liberals ;  and  it  is  always  possible 
that  in  a  different  way  the  Labour  Party  when  It  comes 
into  power  will  be  similarly  inclined  to  reward  those 
who  have  furnished  the  sinews  of  war.  The  House  of 
Commons  in  the  last  Act  which  revised  the  conditions 
of  elections  of  members  of  Parliament  was  careful  to 
leave  open  many  avenues  along  which  Money  might  at- 
tain to  the  heart  of  things.] 

But  at  length  all  such  matters  were  settled,  and  the 
Cabinet  was  free  to  face  the  steady  demand  of  the  women 
leaders  of  the  Suffrage  movement;  a  demand  that  at 
any  rate  some  measure  of  enfranchisement  should  be 
granted  to  the  women  of  the  British  Isles  without  delay. 
We  all  know  how  this  demand  was  received  by  the 
leading  men  of  the  Liberal  Party  and  by  the  more 
prominent  Liberals  among  their  supporters  in  the  House ; 
with  evasions,  silences,  sneers,  angry  refusals,  hasty 
promises  given  to-day  (when  Ministers  were  frightened) 
and  broken  to-morrow;  with  a  whole  series  of  discredit- 
able   tongue-in-the-cheek    tricks    of    Parliamentary   pro- 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  139 

cedure;  till  at  last  the  onlooker  must  have  wondered  at 
and  felt  grateful  for  our  British  phlegm ;  surprised  that 
so  little  actual  harm  was  done  (except  to  the  bodies  of 
the  Suffragists),  that  no  Home  Secretary  or  Police  In- 
spector or  magistrate,  no  flippant  talker-out  of  would-be- 
serious  Franchise  Bills  was  assassinated,  trounced,  tarred 
and  feathered,  kidnapped,  nose-tweaked,  or  even  mud- 
bespattered.  (I  am  reproducing  here  the  growing  com- 
prehension of  the  problem  as  it  shaped  in  Vivie's  mind, 
under  the  hat  and  waistcoat  of  David  Williams.) 

Honoria,  faithful  to  her  old  resolve,  continued  to  de- 
vote the  greater  part  of  the  Two  Thousand  a  year  she 
had  set  aside  for  the  Woman's  Cause  to  financing  the  new 
Suffrage  movement ;  and  incidentally  she  brought  grist 
to  David's  mill  by  recommending  him  as  Counsel  to  many 
women  in  distress,  arrested  Suffragists.  In  1906,  1907 
and  1908  he  made  himself  increasingly  famous  by  his 
pleadings  in  court  on  behalf  of  women  who  with  daunt- 
less courage  and  at  the  cost  of  much  bodily  pain  and  even 
at  the  risk  of  death  had  forcibly  called  attention  to  this 
grave  defect  in  the  British  polity,  the  withholding  of  the 
ordinary  rights  of  tax-paying  citizens  from  adult  women. 

Where  the  Suffragist  was  poor  he  asked  no  fee,  or  a 
small  fee  was  paid  by  some  Suffragist  Association.  But 
he  gained  much  renown  over  his  advocacy;  he  became 
quite  a  well-known  personality  outside  as  well  as  inside 
the  Law  Courts  and  Police-stations  by  1908.  His  plead- 
ings were  sometimes  so  moving,  so  passionate  that  — 
teste  Mrs.  Pankhurst  — "  burly  policemen  in  court  had 
tears  trickling  down  their  faces "  as  he  described  the 
courage,  the  flawless  private  lives,  the  selfless  devotion  to 
a  noble  cause  of  these  women  agitating  for  the  rights 
of  their  sex  —  rich  and  poor,  old  and  young.  Juries 
flinched  from  the  verdict  which  some  bitter-faced  judge 
enjoined ;  magistrates  swerved  from  executing  the  secret 
orders   of    the   Home   Ofiice;   policemen — again  —  for 


I40   '        MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

they  are  most  of  them  decent  fellows  —  resigned  their 
positions  in  the  Force,  sooner  than  carry  out  the  draconian 
policy  of  the  Home  Secretary. 

But  of  course  concurrently  he  lost  many  a  friend  and 
friendship  in  the  Inns  of  Court.  There  were  even  growls 
that  he  should  be  disbarred  —  after  this  espousal  of  the 
Suffrage  cause  had  been  made  manifest  for  three  years. 
He  might  have  been,  but  that  he  had  other  compeers, 
below  and  above  his  abilities  and  position;  advocates  like 
Lord  Robert  Brinsley,  the  famous  son  of  the  Marquis  of 
\\'iltshire.  H  Williams  was  to  be  disbarred,  why  they 
would  have  to  take  the  same  course  with  a  Brinsley  who 
also  defended  women  law-breakers,  fighting  for  their 
constitutional  rights.  And  of  course  such  a  procedure 
as  that  was  unthinkable.  Yet  where  a  Brinsley  sailed 
unhampered,  undangered  over  these  troubled  waters,  poor 
David  often  came  near  to  crashing  on  the  rocks.  ''  To 
hear  the  fellow  talk,"  said  one  angry  K.C.  in  the  Library 
at  the  Inner  Temple,  "  you'd  think  he  was  a  woman  him- 
self!" "Egad"  said  his  brother  K.C. —  yes,  he  really 
did  say  "  Egad,"  the  oath  still  lingers  in  the  Inns  of 
Court  — "  Egad,  he  looks  like  one.  No  hair  on  his  face 
and  ril  lay  he  doesn't  shave." 

There  were  of  course  other  briefs  he  held,  for  pay- 
ment or  for  love  of  justice ;  young  women  who  had 
killed  their  babies  (as  to  these  he  was  far  from  senti- 
mental ;  he  only  defended  where  the  woman  had  any 
claim  to  sympathy  or  mitigation  of  the  unreal  death 
sentence)  ;  breach  of  promise  actions  where  the  woman 
had  been  grossly  wronged ;  affiliation  cases  in  high  life 
—  or  the  nearest  to  high  life  that  makes  a  claim  on  the 
man  for  his  fatherhood.  He  was  a  deadly  prosecutor 
in  cases  where  women  had  been  robbed  by  their  male 
trustees,  or  injured  in  any  other  way  wherein,  in  those 
days,  the  woman  was  at  a  disadvantage  and  the  marriage 
laws  were  unjust. 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  141 

One  way  and  another,  with  the  zealous  aid  and  busi- 
ness-Hke  care  of  his  interests  by  his  clerk,  All^ert  Adams, 
David  must  have  earned  between  1906  and  the  autumn 
of  1908,  an  average  Three  hundred  a  year.  As  he  paid 
Adams  £150  a  year  and  allowed  him  certain  perquisites, 
and  lived  within  his  own  fixed  income  (from  his  an- 
nuity and  investments)  of  £290  a  year,  this  meant  a 
profit  of  about  £500.  This  was  raised  at  a  leap  to  £1,500 
by  the  fees  and  the  special  gift  he  received  for  defending 
Lady  Shillito. 

The  "  Shillito  Case,"  an  indictment  for  murder,  was 
tried  at  the  winter  assize  of  the  North-eastern  Circuit, 
January  or  February,  1909.  I  dare  say  you  have  for- 
gotten all  about  it  now :  Lady  Shillito  changed  her  name, 
married  again  (eventually),  and  was  lost  in  the  crowd 
—  she  may  even,  eleven  years  afterwards,  be  reading  this 
novel  at  the  riper  age  of  forty  and  be  startled  out  of 
her  well-fed  apathy  by  the  revival  of  acute  memories. 

There  have  been  not  a  few  similar  cases  before  and 
since  of  comparatively  young,  beautiful  women  murder- 
ing their  elderly,  objectionable  husbands  in  a  clever  cat- 
tish way,  and  of  course  getting  off  through  lack  of  evi- 
dence or  with  a  short  term  of  imprisonment.  (They 
were  always  treated  in  prison  far  more  tenderly  than 
were  Suft'ragettes,  and  the  average  wardress  adored  them 
and  obtained  for  them  many  little  alleviations  of  their 
lot  before  the  Home  Secretary  gave  way  and  released 
them.)  Nowadays  the  War  and  the  pressing  necessities 
of  life,  the  coal  famine,  the  milk  famine,  the  railway 
strikes  have  robbed  such  cases  of  all  or  nearly  all  their 
interest.  I  could  quite  believe  that  women  in  similar 
circumstances  continue  to  murder  their  elderly  husbands, 
and  the  doctors  and  coroners  and  relations  on  "  his  " 
side  tacitly  agree  not  to  raise  a  fuss  in  the  presence  of 
much  graver  subjects  of  apprehension. 

I   can   also   understand   why   these   beautiful- women- 


142  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

elderly-husband  cases  scarcely  starred  our  Island  story 
prior  to  the  'fifties  of  the  last  century.  It  was  only  when 
chemical  analysis  had  approached  its  present  standard 
of  perfection  that  the  presence  of  the  more  subtle  poisons 
could  be  detected  in  the  stomach  and  intestines,  and  that 
the  young  and  beautiful  wife  could  be  charged  with  and 
found  guilty  of  the  deed  by  the  damning  evidence  of  an 
analytical  chemist. 

It  was  Rossiter  who  secured  for  David  the  conduct 
of  Lady  Shillito's  defence.  Arbella  ^  Shillito  was  his 
second  cousin,  a  Rossiter  by  birth,  and  would  fain  have 
married  Michael  herself,  only  that  he  was  not  at  that 
time  thinking  of  marriage,  and  when  his  thoughts  turned 
that  way  —  the  very  day  after,  as  it  were  —  he  met  Linda 
Bennet  and  her  thousands  a  year.  But  he  retained  a  half 
humorous  liking  for  this  handsome  young  woman. 

Arbella,  disappointed  over  Michael  —  though  she  was 
a  mere  slip  of  a  girl  at  the  time  —  next  decided  that 
she  must  marry  money.  When  she  was  twenty-one  she 
met  Grimthorpe  Shillito,  an  immensely  rich  man  of  New- 
castle-on-Tyne,  whose  foundries  poured  out  big  guns  and 
many  other  things  made  of  iron  and  steel  combined  with 
acids  and  brains.  Grimthorpe  was  a  curious-looking  per- 
son, even  at  forty;  in  appearance  a  mixture  of  Julius 
Caesar,  several  unpleasant-featured  Doges  of  Venice,  and 
Voltaire  in  middle  age.  His  looks  were  not  entirely  his 
fault  and  doubtless  acquired  for  him,  in  his  moral  char- 
acter, a  worse  definition  than  he  deserved.  He  had 
travelled  much  in  his  pursuit  of  metallurgy  and  chem- 
istry; at  forty  he  saw  rising  before  him  the  prospect  of 
a  peerage,  due  either  for  his  extraordinary  discoveries 
and  inventions  in  our  use  of  steel,  or  easily  purchasable 
out  of  his  immense  wealth.  What  is  the  good  of  a 
peerage  if  it  ends  with  your  life?  Lie  was  not  without 
lAn  old  Northumlbrian  variant  of  Arabella. 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  143 

his  vanities,  though  one  of  the  most  cynical  men  of  his 
cynical  period. 

He  arrived  therefore  at  the  decision  that  he  would 
marr}'  some  young  and  buxom  creature  of  decent  birth 
and  fit  in  appearance  to  be  a  peeress,  and  decided  on 
Arbella  Rossiter. 

After  a  gulp  or  two  and  several  moues  behind  his  back, 
she  accepted  him.  A  brilliant  marriage  ceremony  fol- 
lowed, conducted  by  a  Bishop  and  an  Archdeacon.  And 
then  Arbella  was  carried  off  to  live  in  a  Bluebeard's 
Castle  he  possessed  on  the  Northumbrian  coast. 

In  the  three  years  following  her  marriage  she  gave 
him  two  boys,  with  which  he  was  content,  especially  as 
his  own  health  began  to  fail  a  little  just  then.  At  the 
end  of  four  years  of  marriage  with  this  cynical,  Italianate 
tyrant,  Arbella  got  very  sick  of  him  and  thought  more 
and  more  tenderly  of  a  certain  subaltern  in  the  Cavalry 
whom  she  had  once  declined  to  marry  on  £500  a  year. 
This  subaltern  had  returned  from  the  South  African  war, 
a  Colonel  and  still  extremely  good-looking.  They  had 
met  again  at  a  garden  party  and  fallen  once  more  deeply 
in  love.  H  only  her  tiresome  old  Borgia  would  die  — 
was  the  thought  that  came  too  often  into  the  mind  of 
Arbella,  now  entering  the  "  thirties  "  of  life,  and  with 
the  least  possible  misgiving  of  her  Colonel's  constancy 
if  she  became  presently  "  iin  pen  trop  mure." 

She  noticed  at  this  time  that  Grimthorpe  Shillito  went 
on  several  occasions  to  London  to  consult  a  specialist. 
He  complained  of  indigestion,  was  rather  thin,  and  balder 
than  ever,  and  difficult  to  please  in  his  food  and  appetite. 

This  was  her  opportunity.  She  Avould  have  said,  had 
she  been  convicted,  that  he  had  driven  her  to  it  by  his 

cruelties :  that's  as  may  be. She  consulted  the  family 

doctor  who  attended  to  the  household  of  Bluebeard's 
Castle;  suggested  that  Sir  Grimthorpe  (they  had  just 
knighted  him)  might  be  the  better  for  a  strychnine  tonic; 


144  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

she  had  read  somewhere  that  strychnine  did  wonders  for 
middle-aged  men  who  had  led  rather  a  rackety  life  in 
their  early  manhood. 

The  family  doctor  who  disliked  her  and  suspected  her, 
as  you  or  I  wouldn't  have  done,  but  doctors  think  of 
everything,  feigned  to  agree ;  and  supplied  her  with  little 
phials  of  aqua  distillata  flavoured  with  quinine.  He  him- 
self was  puzzled  over  Sir  Grimthorpe's  condition  but  was 
■a  little  offended  at  not  being  personally  consulted. 

The  fact  was  that  Sir  G.  had  a  very  poor  opinion  of 
his  abilities  in  diagnosis  and  being  naturally  secretive  and 
generally  cussed,  preferred  consulting  a  London  special- 
ist. He  wasn't  then  Sir  Grimthorpe,  the  specialist  wasn't 
very  certain  that  it  zvas  cancer  on  the  liver,  and  amJd  his 
multitude  of  consulters  did  not,  unless  aroused,  remem- 
ber very  clearly  the  case  of  a  Mr.  Shillito  from  some- 
where up  in  the  North. 

But  Shillito  pondered  gravely  over  the  specialist's  care- 
fully guarded  phrases  about  "  growths,  possibly  malign, 
but  at  the  same  time  —  difficult  to  be  sure  quite  so  soon 
—  perhaps  harmless,  might  of  course  be  merely  severe 
suppressed  jaundice."  When  the  pains  began  —  he  hated 
the  idea  of  operations,  and  knew  that  any  operation  on 
the  liver  only  at  best  staved  off  the  dread,  inevitable  end 
for  a  year  or  a  few  months  —  When  the  pains  began, 
he  had  grown  utterly  tired  of  life;  so  he  compounded  a 
subtle  poison  —  he  was  a  great  chemist  and  had  —  only 
his  wife  knew  not  of  this  —  a  cabinet  which  contained  a 
variety  of  mineral,  vegetable,  and  acid  poisons;  and  kept 
the  draught  in  a  secret  locker  in  his  bedroom.  Meantime 
Arbella,  who  after  all  was  human,  was  tortured  at  the 
sight  of  his  tortures.  She  felt  she  must  end  it,  or  her 
nerves  would  give  way.  She  trebled,  she  quintupled  the 
dose  of  aqua  distillata  embittered  with  quinine.  One 
night  when  the  night  nurse  was  sleeping  (''resting  her 
eyes,"  she  called  it)  the  wretched  man  stole  from  his  bed 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  145 

to  the  night  nursery  and  kissed  both  his  boys.  He  then 
swiftly  took  the  phial  from  its  hiding  place  and  drank 
the  contents  and  died  in  one  ghastly  minute. 

When  the  night  nurse  awoke  he  was  crisped  in  a  hor- 
rible rigor.  On  the  night  table  was  the  phial  with  the 
remains  of  the  draught.  She  had  noticed  in  the  last 
day  or  two  Lady  Shillito  fussing  a  good  deal  about  the 
sick  man,  pressing  on  him  doses  of  a  colourless  medicine. 
What  if  she  had  stolen  in  while  the  nurse  zvas  asleep  and 
placed  a  finally  fatal  draught  by  the  bedside F  From  that 
she  proceeded  to  argue  (when  she  had  leisure  to  think  it 
out)  that  she  hadn't  been  to  sleep,  had  merely  been  rest- 
ing her  eyes.  And  she  was  now  sure  that  whilst  she  had 
closed  those  orbs  she  had  heard  —  as  indeed  she  had,  only 
it  was  Sir  Grimthorpe  himself  —  some  one  stealing  into 
the  room. 

She  communicated  her  suspicions  to  the  doctor.  The 
latter  knew  his  patient  had  not  died  of  anything  he  had 
prescribed,  but  concluded  that  Lady  Shillito,  wishing  to 
l3e  through  with  the  business,  had  prepared  a  fulminating 
dose  obtained  elsewhere ;  and  insisted  on  autopsy  with  a 
colleague,  to  whom  he  more  than  hinted  his  suspicions. 
Together  they  found  the  strychnine  they  were  looking  for 
—  not  very  much,  but  the  proportion  that  was  combined 
by  Shillito  with  less  traceable  drugs  to  make  the  death 
process  more  rapid  —  and  quite  overlooked  the  signs  of 
cancer  in  the  liver. 

The  outcome  was  that  Lady  Shillito  at  the  inquest 
found  herself  "  in  a  very  unpleasant  position  "  and  was 
placed  under  arrest,  and  later  charged  with  the  murder 
of  her  husband. 

Believing  herself  guilty  she  summoned  all  her  resolu- 
tion to  her  aid,  admitted  nothing,  appealed  to  Michael 
Rossiter  and  others  for  advice.  Thus  David  was  drawn 
into  the  business. 

[But  this  doesn't  sound  very  credible,  you  will  say. 


146  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

"If  the  husband  felt  he  could  not  face  the  agony  of 
death  by  cancer,  why  didn't  he  leave  a  note  saying  so, 
and  every  one  would  have  understood  and  been  quite 
*  nice  '  about  it  ?  "  I  really  can't  say.  Perhaps  he  wished 
to  leave  trouble  for  her  behind  him;  perhaps  he  divined 
the  reason  why  she  thought  a  day  nurse  unnecessary,  and 
insisted  on  giving  him  his  day  medicines  with  her  own 
fair  hands.  Perhaps  he  hoped  for  an  open  verdict. 
Perhaps  he  wasn't  quite  right  in  his  mind.  I  have  told 
you  the  story  as  I  remember  it  and  my  memory  is  not 
perfect.  Personally  Pve  always  been  a  bit  sorry  for 
Grimthorpe.  It  is  quite  possible  that  all  those  hints  as 
to  his  "  queerness  "  were  invented  by  his  wife  to  excuse 
herself.  I  only  know  that  Science  benefited  greatly  from 
his  researches,  and  that  he  bequeathed  some  priceless  col- 
lections to  both  branches  of  the  British  Museum.  Some 
one  once  told  me  he  had  a  heart  somewhere  and  had 
loved  intensely  a  sister  much  younger  than  himself  and 
had  only  begun  to  be  "  queer "  and  secretive  and  bald 
after  her  premature  death.  I  think  also  that  in  the  last 
year  of  his  life  he  was  greatly  embittered  at  not  getting 
the  expected  peerage;  after  the  trouble  and  disagreeable- 
ness  he  had  gone  through  to  obtain  heirs  for  this  distinc- 
tion this  poor  little  attempt  at  immortality  which  it  is  in 
the  power  of  a  Prime  Minister  to  bestow.] 

The  Grand  Jury  returned  a  true  bill  against  Lady 
Shillito.  David  had  been  studying  the  case  from  the 
morrow  of  the  inquest,  that  is  as  soon  as  Rossiter  had 
learnt  of  the  coming  trouble.  The  latter  though  he  re- 
garded Cousin  Arbella  as  a  rather  amusing  minx,  an 
interesting  type  in  modern  psychology  (though  really 
her  type  is  as  old  as  —  say — the  Hallstadt  period)  had 
no  wish  to  see  her  convicted  of  murder.  Furthermore 
he  was  getting  so  increasingly  interested  in  this  clever 
David  Williams  that  he  would  have  liked  to  make  his 
fortune  by  helping  him  to   a  sensational   success   as   a 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  147 

pleader,  to  one  of  those  cases  which  if  successfully  con- 
ducted mark  out  a  path  to  the  Bench.  So  he  insisted 
that  David  Williams  be  briefed  for  the  defence,  and  well 
fee'ed,  in  order  that  he  might  be  able  to  devote  all  his 
time  to  the  investigation  of  the  mystery.  David  had 
an  uphill  task.  He  went  down  to  the  North  in  Novem- 
ber, 1908,  conferred  with  Lady  Shihito's  solicitors,  and 
at  great  length  with  the  curiously  calm,  ironly-resolvcd 
Lady  Shillito  herself.  The  evidence  was  too  much 
against  her  for  him  to  prevent  her  being  committed  for 
trial  and  lodged  in  reasonably  comfortable  quarters  in 
Newcastle  jail,  or  for  the  Grand  Jury  to  find  no  true 
bill  of  indictment.  But  between  these  stages  in  the  proc- 
ess and  the  actual  trial  for  murder  in  February,  1909, 
David  worked  hard  and  accumulated  conclusive  evidence 
(with  Rossiter's  help)  to  prove  his  client's  innocence  of 
the  deed  of  which  she  believed  herself  guilty.  To  punish 
her  as  she  deserved  he  allowed  her  to  think  herself  guilty 
till  his  defence  of  her  began. 

The  prospect  of  a  death  on  the  gallows  did  not  per- 
turb Lady  Shillito  in  the  least.  She  was  perfectly  cer- 
tain that  if  found  guilty  her  beauty  and  station  in  life 
would  avail  to  have  the  death  penalty  commuted  to  a 
term  of  imprisonment  which  she  would  spend  in  the 
Infirmary.  Still,  that  would  ruin  her  life  pretty  con- 
clusively. She  would  issue  from  prison  a  broken  woman, 
whom  in  spite  of  her  wealth  —  if  she  retained  any  —  no 
impossibly-faithful  Colonel  would  marry  at  the  age  of 
forty-five  or  fifty.  So  she  followed  the  opening  hours 
of  the  trial  with  a  dry  mouth. 

With  the  help  of  Rossiter  and  of  many  and  minute 
researches  David  got  on  the  track  of  the  consultation 
in  Harley  Street,  the  warning  given  of  the  possible  can- 
cer. He  found  in  Sir  Grimthorpe's  laboratory  sufficient 
strychnine  to  kill  an  army.  He  was  privately  informed 
by  the  family  doctor  (who  didn't  want  to  press  matters 


148  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

to  a  tragedy)  that  although  he  fully  believed  Arbella  ca- 
pable of  the  deed,  she  certainly  had  —  so  far  as  the  doc- 
tor's prescriptions  were  concerned  — >  obtained  nothing 
from  him  which  could  have  killed  her  husband,  even  if 
she  had  centupled  the  dose. 

Lady  Shillito  appeared  in  the  dock  dressed  as  much 
as  possible  like  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots  on  her  trial ;  and 
was  attended  by  a  hospital  nurse  with  restoratives  and 
carminatives.  The  Jury  retired  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
only,  and  returned  a  verdict  of  Not  Guilty.  The  Court 
was  rent  with  applause,  and  the  Judge  commented  very 
severely  on  such  a  breach  of  decorum,  apparently  un- 
known to  him  in  previous  annals  of  our  courts  of  justice. 
Lady  Shillito  fainted  and  the  nurse  fussed,  and  the  Judge 
in  his  private  room  sent  for  Mr.  Williams  and  compli- 
mented him  handsomely  on  his  magnificent  conduct  of 
the  case.  "  Of  course  she  meant  to  poison  him ;  but  I 
quite  agree  with  the  Jury,  she  didn't.  He  saved  her  the 
trouble.  Now  I  suppose  she'll  marry  again.  Well!  I 
pity  her  next  husband.     Come  and  have  lunch  with  me." 

And  in  the  course  of  the  meal,  His  Ludship  spoke 
warmly  to  Mr.  Williams  of  the  bright  prospects  that  lay 
ibefore  him  if  he  would  drop  those  foolish  Suffragette 
cases. 

David  returned  to  London  with  Rossiter  and  remained 
silent  all  the  way.  His  companion  believed  him  to  be 
very  tired,  and  refrained  from  provoking  conversation, 
but  surrounded  him  with  a  quiet,  fatherly  care.  Arrived 
at  King's  Cross  Rossiter  said :  "  Don't  go  on  to  your 
chambers.  My  motor's  here.  It  can  take  your  luggage 
on  with  mine  to  Portland  Place.  You  can  have  a  wash 
and  a  rest  and  a  talk  when  you're  rested;  and  after  we've 
dined  and  talked  the  motor  shall  come  roimd  and  take 
you  back  to  Fig  Tree  Court." 

Mrs.  Rossiter  was  there  to  greet  them,  and  whilst 
David  went  to  wash  and  rest  and  prepare  himself   for 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  149 

dinner,  she  chirrupped  over  her  big  husband,  and  asked 
endless  and  sometimes  pointless  questions  about  the  trial 
and  the  verdict.  "  Did  Michael  believe  she  really  had 
done  it?  She,  for  one,  could  believe  anything  about  a 
woman  who  obviously  dyed  her  hair  and  improved  her 
eyebrows.  (Of  course  Michael  said  he  didn't,  or  the 
questions,  as  to  why,  how,  when  might  have  gone  on  for 
hours).  Was  Mr.  Williams's  defence  of  Arbella  so  very 
wonderful  as  the  evening  papers  said?  Why  could  he 
not  have  gone  straight  home  and  rested  there?  It  would 
have  been  so  much  nicer  to  have  had  Mike  all  to  herself 
on  his  return,  and  not  have  this  tiresome,  melancholy 
young  man  spending  the  evening  with  them  .  .  .  really 
some  people  had  no  tact  .  .  .  could  not  see  they  were 
de  trop.  Why  didn't  Mr.  Williams  marry  some  nice  girl 
and  make  a  home  for  himself?  Not  well  enough  off? 
Rubbish!  She  had  known  plenty  young  couples  marry 
and  live  very  happily  on  Two  hundred  and  fifty  a  year, 
and  Mr.  Williams  must  surely  be  earning  that?  And  if 
he  must  always  be  dining  out  and  spending  the  evening 
with  other  people,  why  did  he  not  make  himself  more 
'  general  ?  '  Not  always  be  absorbed  in  her  husband. 
Of  course  she  understood  that  while  Arbella' s  fate  hung 
in  the  balance  they  had  to  study  the  case  together  and 
have  long  confabulations  over  poisons  in  the  Lab'rat'ry. 
...  !  "  (This  last  detestable  word  was  a  great  worry 
to  Mrs.  Rossiter.  Sometimes  she  succeeded  in  suppres- 
sing as  many  vowels  as  possible;  at  others  she  felt  im- 
pelled to  give  them  fuller  values  and  call  it  "  labora- 
torry.")  And  so  on,  for  an  hour  or  so  till  dinner  was 
announced. 

David  sat  silent  all  through  this  meal,  under  Mrs.  Ros- 
siter's  mixture  of  mirthless  badinage :  "  We  shall  have 
you  now  proposing  to  Lady  Shillito  after  saving  her  life! 
I  expect  her  husband  won't  have  altered  his  will  as  she 
didn't  poison  him,  and  she  must  have  had  quite  thirty 


150  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

thousand  pounds  settled  on  her.  .  .  .  They  do  say  how- 
ever she's  a  great  flirt  .  .  ."  Indiscreet  questions: 
"  How  much  will  you  make  out  of  this  case?  You  don't 
know  ?  I  thought  barristers  had  all  that  marked  on  their 
briefs  ?  And  didn't  she  give  you  '  refreshers,'  as  they 
call  them,  from  time  to  time?  What  was  it  like  seeing 
her  in  prison?  Was  she  handcufTed?  Or  chained? 
What  did  she  wear  when  she  was  tried?"  And  incon- 
sequent remarks :  "  I  remember  my  mamma  —  she  died 
when  I  was  only  fourteen  —  used  to  dream  she  was  be- 
ing tried  for  murder.  It  distressed  her  very  much  be- 
cause, as  she  said,  she  couldn't  have  hurt  a  fly.  What 
do  yoii  dream  about,  Mr.  Williams?  Some  pretty  young 
lady,  I'll  be  bound.  I  dream  about  such  funny  things, 
but  I  nearly  always  forget  what  they  were  just  as  I  am 
going  to  tell  Michael.  But  I  did  remember  one  dream 
just  before  Michael  went  down  to  Newcastle  to  join  you 
.  .  .  was  it  about  mermaids?  No.  It  was  about  3/01^  — 
wasn't  that  funny?  And  you  seemed  to  be  dressed  as  a 
mermaid  —  no,  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  a  merman 
—  and  you  were  trying  to  follow  Michael  up  the  rocks 
by  walking  on  your  tail;  and  it  seemed  to  hurt  you 
awfully.  Of  course  I  know  what  it  all  came  from. 
Michael  had  wanted  me  to  read  Hans  Andersen's  fairy 
stories  —  don't  you  think  they're  pretty  ?  I  do ;  but  some- 
times they  are  about  rather  silly  things,  skewers  and 
lucifer  matches  .  .  .  and  I  had  spent  the  afternoon  at 
the  Zoo.  Michael's  a  fellow,  of  course,  and  I  use  his 
ticket  and  always  feel  quite  at  home  there  .  .  .  and  at 
the  Zoo  that  day  I  had  seen  one  of  the  sea-lions  trying  to 
walk  on  his  tail.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  I  laughed!  But  what 
made  me  associate  the  sea-lion  with  you  and  mermaids, 
I  cannot  say,  but  then  as  poor  papa  used  to  say,  '  Dreams 
are  funny  things  '  .  .  ." 

David's  replies  were  hardly  audible,  and  to  his  hostess's 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  151 

pressing  entreaties  that  he  would  try  this  dish  or  not 
pass  that,  he  did  not  answer  at  all.  He  felt,  indeed, 
as  though  the  muscles  of  his  throat  would  not  let  him 
swallow  and  if  he  opened  his  mouth  wide  enough  to  utter 
a  consecutive  speech  he  would  burst  out  crying.  A  great 
desire  —  almost  unknown  to  Vivie  hitherto  —  seized  him 
to  get  away  to  some  lonely  spot  and  cry  and  cry,  give  full 
vent  to  some  unprecedented  fit  of  hysteria.  He  could 
not  look  at  Rossiter  though  he  knew  that  Michael's  eyes 
were  resting  on  his  face,  because  if  he  attempted  to  reply 
to  the  earnest  gaze  by  a  reassuring  smile,  the  lips  would 
tremble  and  the  tears  would  fall. 

At  last  when  the  dessert  was  reached  and  the  servants 
—  do  they  never  feel  telepathically  at  such  moments  that 
some  one  person  seated  at  the  table,  crumbling  bread, 
wishes  them  miles  aAvay  and  loathes  their  quiet  ministra- 
tions?—  the  sei-vants  had  withdrawn  for  a  brief  respite 
till  they  reappeared  with  coffee,  David  rose  to  his  feet 
and  stammered  out  something  about  not  being  well  — 
would  they  order  the  motor  and  let  him  go?  And  as 
he  spoke,  and  tried  to  speak  in  a  level,  "  society  "  voice, 
his  aching  eyes  saw  the  electric  lamps,  the  glinting  silver, 
Mrs.  Rossiter's  pink,  foolish  face  and  crisp  little  flaxen 
curls,  Rossiter's  bearded  countenance  with  its  honest,  con- 
cerned look  all  waltzing  round  and  round  in  a  dizzying 
whirl.  He  made  the  usual  vain  clutches  at  unreal  sup- 
ports, and  fainted  into  Rossiter's  arms. 

The  latter  carried  him  with  little  effort  into  the  cool 
library  and  laid  him  down  on  a  couch.  Mrs.  Rossiter 
followed,  full  of  exclamations,  vain  questions,  and  sug- 
gestions of  inapplicable  or  unsuitable  remedies.  Rossiter 
paid  little  heed  to  her,  and  proceeded  to  remove  David's 
collar  and  tie  and  open  his  shirt  front  in  order  to  place 
a  hand  over  the  heart.  Suddenly  he  looked  up  and  round 
on  his  wife,  and  said  with  a  peremptoriness  which  ad- 


152  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

mitted  of  no  questioning:  "  Go  and  see  that  one  of  the 
spare  bedrooms  is  got  ready,  a  fire  lit,  and  so  on.  Get 
this  done  quickly,  and  meantime  leave  him  to  me.  I  have 
got  restoratives  here  close  at  hand." 

Mrs.  Rossiter  awed  into  silence  summoned  the  house- 
maid and  parlour-maid  and  hindered  them  as  much  as 
possible  in  the  task  of  getting  a  room  ready. 

Meantime  the  sub-conscious  David  sighed  a  great  deal 
and  presently  wept  a  great  deal  in  convulsive  sobs,  and 
then  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  the  tourbillon  of  whirling 
elements  setding  down  into  Rossiter's  grave,  handsome 
face  —  yes,  but  a  gravity  somehow  interpenetrated  by 
love,  a  love  not  ashamed  to  show  itself  —  bending  over 
him  with  great  concern.  The  secret  had  been  guessed, 
was  known ;  and  as  they  held  each  other  with  their  eyes 
as  though  the  world  were  well  lost  in  this  discovery, 
their  lips  met  in  one  kiss,  and  for  a  minute  Vivie's  arms 
were  round  Michael's  neck,  for  just  one  unforgettable 
moment,  a  moment  she  felt  she  would  cheerfully  have 
died  to  have  lived  through. 

They  were  soon  unlaced,  for  sharp  little  high-heeled 
footsteps  on  the  tiled  passage  and  the  clinketing  of 
trinkets  announced  the  return  of  Mrs.  Rossiter. 

Vivie  became  David  once  more,  but  left  behind  her  the 
glad  tears  of  relief  that  were  coursing  down  David's 
cheeks. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  thought  this  was  a  very  odd  way  for 
a  barrister  to  celebrate  his  winning  a  great  case  at  the 
criminal  courts,  and  turned  away  in  delicacy  from  the 
spectacle  of  a  dishevelled  and  obviously  lachrymose 
young  man  with  one  arm  dangling  and  the  other  thrown 
negligently  over  the  back  of  the  leather  couch.  "  Mr. 
Williams's  room  is  ready,  Michael,"  she  said  primly. 
"  All  right,  dear ;  thank  you.  I  will  help  Williams  up  to 
bed  and  have  his  luggage  sent  up.  He  will  be  quite 
well  to-morrow   if  he  can  get  to   sleep.     You   needn't 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  153 

bother  any  more,  dearie.  Go  into  the  drawing-room  and 
I  will  join  you  there  presently." 

Rossiter  gave  the  rather  shuddery,  shivery,  teeth- 
clacking  David  an  arm  till  he  saw  him  into  the  bedroom 
and  resting  on  the  bedroom  sofa.  Then  he  drew  up  a 
chair  and  said  in  low  but  distinct  tones :  — 

"  Look  here.  I  know  you  want  to  make  me  an  expla- 
nation. Well !  It  can  wait.  A  little  more  of  this  strain 
and  you'll  be  having  brain  fever.  Sleep  if  you  can,  and 
eat  all  the  breakfast  Linda  sends  you  up  in  the  morning. 
Get  up  at  eleven  to-morrow  and  if  you  are  fit  then  to 
drive  out  in  my  motor,  return  to  your  chambers.  When 
you  have  calmed  down  to  a  normal  pulse,  write  to  me  all 
you  want  to  say.  No  one  shall  read  it  but  me  .  .  .  Lll 
burn  it  afterwards  or  send  it  back  to  you  under  seal. 
But  at  the  present  time,  it  may  be  easier  for  both  of  us 
if  our  communications  are  only  written  and  not  spoken. 
We  have  both  been  tried  rather  high;  and  both  of  us  are 
human,  however  high-principled.  If  you  write,  register 
the  letter.  .  .  .  Good-night.  ..." 

This  that  follows  is  probably  what  Vivie  wrote  to 
Michael.  He  burnt  the  long  letter  when  he  had  finished 
reading  it  though  he  made  excerpts  in  a  pocket-book. 
But  I  can  more  or  less  correctly  surmise  how  she  would 
put  her  case;  how  she  typed  it  herself  in  the  solitude 
of  two  evenings;  how,  indeed,  her  nervous  break-down 
was  made  the  reason  for  fending  off  all  clients  and  deny- 
ing herself  to  all  callers. 

"I  am  not  David  Vavasour  WilliamxS.  I  am  Vivien 
Warren,  the  daughter  of  a  woman  who  runs  a  series 
of  disreputable  Private  Hotels  on  the  Continent.  I  had 
no  avowed  father,  nor  had  my  mother,  who  likewise 
was  illegitimate.  She  was  probably  the  daughter  of  a 
Lieutenant  Warren  who  was  killed  in  the  Crimea,  and 
her  mother's  name  was  Vavasour.  My  grandmother 
was  probably  —  I  can  only  deal  with  probabilities  and 


154  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

possibilities  in  this  undocumented  past  —  a  Welsh  woman 
of  Cardiff,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  I  were  a  sort 
of  cousin  of  the  man  I  am  personating. 

"  He  was  the  ne'er-do-weel,  only  son  of  a  Welsh  vicar, 
a  pupil  of  Praed's,  who  went  out  to  South  Africa  and 
died  or  was  killed  in  the  war. 

"  You  have  met  my  adopted  father.  He  fully  believes 
I  am  the  bad  son,  the  prodigal  son,  returned  and  re- 
formed. He  has  grown  to  love  me  so  much  that  it  really 
seems  to  have  put  new  life  into  him.  I  have  helped  him 
to  get  his  affairs  straight,  and  I  think  I  may  say  he  has 
gained  by  this  substitution  of  one  son  for  another,  even 
though  the  new  son  is  a  daughter !  I  have  taken  none  of 
his  money,  other  than  small  sums  he  has  thrust  on  me. 
I  have  some  money  of  my  own,  earned  in  Honoria's  firm, 
for  I  was  the  '  Warren  '  of  her  '  Eraser  and  Warren.' 
She  has  known  my  secret  all  along,  hasn't  quite  approved, 
but  was  overborne  by  me  in  my  resolve  to  show  what 
a  woman  —  in  disguise,  it  may  be  —  could  do  at  the 
Bar. 

"  Michael !  I  started  out  twelve  years  ago  —  and  the 
dreadful  thing  is  I  am  now  thirty-four  in  true  truth! 
to  conquer  Man,  and  a  man  has  conquered  me !  I  wanted 
to  show  that  woman  could  compete  with  man  in  all 
careers,  and  especially  in  the  Law.  So  she  can  —  have 
I  not  shown  it  by  what  I  have  done?  But  it  is  a  drawn 
battle.  I  have  realized  that  if  some  men  are  bad  —  rot- 
ten —  others,  like  you  —  are  supremely  good.  I  love 
you  as  I  never  thought  I  could  love  any  one.  I  cannot 
trust  myself  to  write  down  how  much  I  love  you :  it 
would  read  shamefully  and  be  too  much  a  surrender  of 
my  first  principle  of  self-respect. 

"  I  am  going  to  throw  up  the  whole  D.  V.  W.  business. 
It  has  put  us  in  a  false  relation  which  was  exasperating 
me  and  puzzling  you.  Moreover  the  disguise  was  wear- 
ing  very   thin.     Only   those   two   loyal   souls,    Honoria 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  155 

Eraser  and  Albert  Adams,  were  cognizant  of  the  secret, 
but  it  was  being-  guessed  at  and  almost  guessed  right,  in 
certain  quarters.  Professional  jealousy  was  on  my  track. 
I  never  fainted  before  in  my  life  —  so  far  as  I  can  re- 
member —  but  I  might  have  done  so  elsewhere  than  in 
your  dear  house,  after  the  strain  of  such  an  effort  as  I 
made  to  save  that  worthless  woman  —  she  was  your 
cousin,  which  is  why  I  fought  for  her  so  hard  —  How 
often  is  not  justice  deflected  by  Love!  I  might,  some- 
where else,  when  over-strained  have  had  a  fit  of  hysterics; 
and  my  disguise  would  have  been  penetrated  by  eyes  less 
merciful  than  yours.  Then  would  have  come  exposure 
and  its  consequences  —  damaging  to  You  (/  should  not 
have  mattered),  to  my  poor  old  '  father '  down  in  Wales 
—  whom  I  sincerely  love  —  to  Praddy,  to  Honoria.  .  .  . 

"Let  me  be  thankful  to  get  off  so  easily!  Somme 
toiite,  I  have  had  a  glorious  time,  have  seen  the  world 
from  the  man's  point  of  view  —  and  I  can  assure  you  that 
from  his  point  of  view  it  is  a  jolly  place  to  live  in  — 
He  can  walk  up  and  down  the  Strand  and  receive  no 
insult. 

"  Well  now,  to  relieve  your  anxieties,  I  will  tell  you, 
that  after  a  brief  visit  to  South  Wales  to  recuperate  from 
the  exertions  of  that  trial,  Mr.  David  Williams  the 
famous  young  barrister  at  the  Criminal  Bar  will  go  abroad 
to  investigate  the  White  Slave  Traffic.  Miss  Vivien 
Warren  privately  believes  —  and  hopes  —  that  the  hor- 
rors of  this  traffic  in  British  womanhood  are  greatly  ex- 
aggerated. The  lot  in  life  of  many  of  these  young 
women  i's  so  bad  in  their  native  land  that  they  cannot 
make  it  worse  by  going  abroad,  no  matter  in  what  avowed 
career.  But  Mr.  David  Williams  takes  rather  a  higher 
line  and  is  resolved  in  any  case  to  get  at  the  Truth.  Miss 
Warren,  nathless,  has  her  misgivings  anent  her  old 
mamma,  and  would  like  to  know  what  that  old  lady  is 
doing  at  the  present  time,  and  whether  she  is  past  re- 


156  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

form.  Miss  Warren  even  has  her  moments  of  doubt  as 
to  the  flawless  perfection  of  her  own  life:  whether  the 
path  of  duty  in  1897  did  not  rather  lie  in  the  direction 
of  a  serious  attempt  to  be  a  daughter  to  her  wayward 
mother  and  reclaim  her  then,  instead  of  going  off  at  a 
tangent  as  the  mannish  type  of  New  Woman,  to  whom 
applicable  Mathematics  are  everything  and  human  affec- 
tions very  little.  I  suppose  the  truth,  the  commonplace 
truth  is,  that  rather  late  in  life,  Vivien  Warren  has  fallen 
in  love  in  the  old-fashioned  way  ■ —  How  Nature  mocks 
at  us  !  —  and  now  sees  things  somewhat  differently.  At 
any  rate,  David  ajid  Vivie,  fused  into  one  personality, 
are  going  abroad  for  a  protracted  period  .  .  .  going  out 
of  your  life,  my  dearest,  for  it  is  better  so.  Linda  has 
every  right  to  you  and  Science  is  a  jealous  mistress. 
Moreover  poor,  outcast  Vivie  has  her  own  bitter  pride. 
She  is  resolved  to  show  that  a  woman  can  cultivate 
strength  of  character  and  an  unflinching  sobriety  of  con- 
duct, even  when  born  of  such  doubtful  stock  as  mine, 
even  when  devoid  of  all  religious  faith.  I  know  you 
love  me,  I  glory  in  the  knowledge,  but  I  know  that  you 
likewise  are  more  strongly  bound  by  principles  of  right 
conduct  because  like  myself  you  have  no  sham  the- 
ology. .  .  . 

"Michael!  why  are  we  tortured  like  this?  Why 
mayn't  we  love  where  we  please?  Is  this  discipline  nec- 
essary to  the  improvement  of  the  race?  I  only  know  that 
if  we  sinned  against  these  human  laws  and  conventions, 
your  great  career  in  Science  —  and  again,  why  in 
Science?  Lightness  in  love  does  not  seem  to  affect  the 
career  of  orchestral  conductors,  actors,  singers,  play- 
wrights and  house  painters  —  why  weren't  you  one  of 
these,  and  not  a  High  Priest  of  the  only  real  religion? 
I  only  know  also  that  if  I  fell,  so  many  people  would 
have  the  satisfaction  of  saying:  'There!  zvhat  did  I 
say?     What's  bred  in  the  bone  comes  out  in  the  flesh. 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  157 

That's  how  the  Woman's  Movement's  goin'  to  end,  you 
take  my  word  for  it !  They'll  get  a  man  somewhere, 
somehow,  and  then  tliey'll  clear  out  of  it.' 

"  I  think  I  said  before  —  I  meant  to  say,  at  any  rate, 
so  as  to  ease  your  mind :  I'm  all  right  as  regards  finan- 
cial matters.  I  have  a  life  annuity  and  some  useful  sav- 
ings. I  shall  give  Bertie  Adams  a  year's  salary;  and 
if  you  feel,  dear  friend,  you  must  put  forth  your  hand 
to  help  me,  help  him  instead  to  get  another  position.  He 
has  a  wife  and  a  young  family,  and  for  his  class  is  just 
about  as  good  a  chap  as  I  have  ever  met  —  this  is  '  David  ' 
speaking!  li  you  can  do  nothing  you  may  be  sure  Vivie 
will,  even  if  she  has  to  borrow  unclean  money  from  her 
wicked  old  mother  to  keep  Bertie  Adams  from  financial 
anxiety  and  his  pretty  young  wife  and  the  child  they  are 
so  proud  of.  .  .  . 

"  I  must  finish  this  gigantic  letter  somewhere,  though 
I'm  not  going  to  stop  writing  to  you.  I  couldn't  —  I 
should  lose  all  hold  on  life  if  I  did.  For  the  purpose  of 
correspondence  and  finishing  up  things,  I  shall  be  *  David 
Williams  '  for  some  time  longer.  You  know  his  address 
in  Wales?  Pontystrad  Vicarage,  Pontyffynon,  Glam- 
organ, if  you've  forgotten  it.  He'll  be  there  till  April, 
and  then  begin  his  foreign  tour  and  write  to  you  at  in- 
tervals from  the  Continent.  As  to  Vivie,  I  think  she 
won't  return  to  life  and  activity  till  the  autumn  and  then 
she'll  make  things  hum.  She'll  throw  all  the  energy  of 
frustrated  love  into  the  Woman's  Cause,  and  get  'em 
the  Vote  somehow.  ...    !  " 

Early  in  the  genesis  of  the  book  I  appointed  a  jury 
of  matrons  to  judge  each  chapter  before  it  went  to  the 
Press,  and  to  decide  whether  it  was  suited  to  the  restric- 
tions of  the  circulating  library,  and  whether  it  would 
cause  real  distress  or  perturbation  to  three  persons  whom 
we  chose  as  representative  readers  of  decent  fiction :  Ad- 


158  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

miral  Broadbent,  Lady  Percy  Moimtjoye,  and  old  Mrs. 
Bridges  (Mrs.  Bridges  was  said  to  have  had  a  heart  at- 
tack after  reading  the  gay-dombeys  —  I  did  not  wish  her 
to  have  another).  This  jury  of  broad-minded  women 
of  the  world  decided  that  Rossiter's  reply  to  Vivie's  very 
long  epistle  should  not  see  the  light.  He  himself  would 
probably  —  had  he  known  we  were  discussing  his  affairs 
—  have  been  thankful  for  this  decision;  because  twelve 
hours  after  he  had  written  it  he  was  heartily  ashamed  of 
his  momentary  lapse  from  high  principles,  ashamed  that 
the  woman  in  the  case  should  have  shown  herself  truer 
metal.  He  resolved,  so  far  as  our  poor  human  resolves 
are  worth  anything,  to  remain  inflexibly  true  to  his  de- 
voted Linda  and  to  his  career  in  biological  Science.  He 
knew  too  well  that  if  he  were  caught  in  adultery  it  would 
be  all  over  with  the  great  theories  he  was  working  to 
establish.  The  Royal  Society  would  condemn  them. 
Besides,  so  fine  a  resolve  as  Vivie's,  to  live  on  the  heights 
must  be  respected. 

At  the  same  time,  it  is  certain  that  for  the  next  three 
months  he  muddled  his  experiments,  confused  his  argu- 
ments, lost  his  temper  with  a  colleague  on  the  Council 
of  the  Zoological  Society,  kicked  the  pugs  —  even  caused 
the  most  unbearable  two  of  them  to  be  poisoned  by  his 
assistant  —  and  lied  in  attributing  their  deaths  to  other 
causes.  He  promised  the  weeping  Linda  a  Pom  instead ; 
he  said  "  Hell !  "  when  the  macaw  interrupted  them  with 
raucous  screams.  He  let  pass  all  sorts  of  misprints  in 
his  article  on  the  Ductless  Glands  for  the  Encyclopaedia 
Scotica,  he  was  always  losing  the  thread  of  his  discourse 
in  his  lectures  at  the  London  Institution  and  University 
College;  and  he  spent  too  much  of  his  valuable  time  writ- 
ing hugely  long  letters  on  all  sorts  of  subjects  to  David 
Williams. 

David  —  or  Vivie  —  replied  much  more  laconically. 
In  the  first  place  he  —  she  —  had  had  her  say  in  the  one 


THE  SHILLITO  CASE  159 

big  outpouring  from  which  I  have  quoted  so  freely;  in 
the  second  she  did  not  wish  to  stoke  up  these  fires  lest 
they  should  become  volcanic  and  break  up  a  happy  home 
and  a  great  career.  She  wrote  once  saying:  "  If  ever 
you  were  in  trouble  of  any  kind;  if  Linda  should  die  be- 
fore me,  for  example,  I  would  come  back  to  you  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth  and  even  if  I  were  legitimately  married 
to  the  Prince  of  Monaco;  come  back  and  serve  you  as  a 
drudge,  as  a  butt  for  your  wit,  as  a  sick  nurse.  But 
meantime,  Michael,  you  must  play  the  game." 

And  so  after  this  three  months'  frenzy  was  past,  he 
did.  It  was  not  always  easy.  Linda's  devotion  was 
touching.  She  perceived  —  though  she  hardly  liked  ad- 
mitting it  —  that  her  husband  missed  the  society  of 
"  that  "  Mr.  Williams,  in  whom  she,  for  one,  never  could 
see  anything  particularly  striking,  and  who  w^as  now  trav- 
elling abroad  on  a  quest  it  would  be  indelicate  to  par- 
ticularize, and  one  that  in  her  opinion  should  have  been 
taken  up  by  a  far  older  man,  the  father  of  a  grown-up 
family.  She  strove  to  replace  Williams  as  an  intelligent 
companion  in  the  Library  and  even  in  the  Laboratory. 
She  gave  up  works  of  charity  and  espionage  in  Maryle- 
bone  and  many  of  her  trips  into  Society,  to  sit  more  often 
with  the  dear  Professor,  and  was  a  little  distressed  by 
his  groans  which  seemed  to  be  quite  unprovoked  by  her 
remarks  or  her  actions.  However  as  the  months  went 
by,  Rossiter  buckled  dow^n  more  to  his  work,  and  Mrs. 
Rossiter  noticed  that  he  engaged  a  new  assistant  at  £300 
a  year  to  take  charge  of  his  enormous  correspondence. 
Mr.  Bertie  Adams  seemed  a  nice  young  man,  though  also 
afflicted  at  times  with  something  that  gave  melancholy 
to  his  gaze.  But  he  had  a  good  little  wife  who  came  to 
make  a  home  for  him  in  Marylebone.  Mrs.  Rossiter  be- 
ing a  kindly  woman  went  to  call  on  her  and  was  entirely 
taken  up  with  their  one  child  whom  she  frequently  asked 
to  tea  and  found  much  more  interesting  than  the  new 


i6o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Pom.  "  But  it's  got  such  a  funny  name,  Michael ;  I 
mean  funny  for  their  station  in  life.  It's  a  girl  and  they 
call  it  '  Vivvy,'  which  is  short  for  Vivien.  I  told  Mrs. 
Adams  she  must  have  been  reading  Tennyson's  Idylls  of 
the  King ;  but  she  said  '  No,  she  wasn't  much  of  a  reader: 
Adams  was,  and  it  was  some  lady's  name  in  a  story  that 
had  stuck  in  his  head,  and  that  as  her  mother's  name  was 
Susan  and  his  was  Jane,  she  hadn't  minded.'  " 


CHAPTER  XI 

DAVID  GOES  ABROAD 

DAVID  WILLIAMS  had  an  enthusiastic  greeting 
when  he  went  home  to  Pontystracl  for  the  Easter 
of  1909.  It  was  an  early  Easter  that  year,  whether  you 
Hke  it  or  not ;  it  suits  my  story  better  so,  because  then 
David  can  turn  up  in  Brussels  at  the  end  of  April,  and 
yet  have  attended  to  a  host  of  necessary  things  before  his 
departure  on  a  long  absence. 

He  first  of  all  devoted  himself  to  making  the  old  Vicar 
happy  for  a  few  weeks  in  a  rather  blustery,  showery 
March-April.  His  father  was  full  of  wonderment  and 
exultation  over  the  honourable  publicity  his  barrister  son 
had  attained.  "  You'll  be  a  Judge,  Davy;  at  any  rate  a 
K.C.,  before  I'm  dead!  But  marry,  boy,  marry.  That's 
what  you  must  do  now.  Marry  and  give  me  grandchil- 
dren." The  burly  curate  privately  thought  David  a  bit 
morbid  in  his  passionate  devotion  to  the  Woman's  Cause, 
and  this  White  Slave  Traffic  all  rot.  He  had  worked  suf- 
ficiently in  the  bad  towns  of  the  South  Welsh  coast  and 
had  had  an  initiation  into  the  lower-living  parts  of  Bir- 
mingham and  London  to  be  skeptical  about  the  existence 
of  these  poor,  deluded  virgins,  lured  from  their  humble  re- 
spectable homes  and  thrust  by  Shakespearean  procuresses, 
bawds,  and  bullies  into  an  impure  life.  If  they  went  to 
these  places  abroad  it  was  probably  with  the  hope  of 
greater  gains,  better  food,  and  stricter  medical  attention. 
However,  he  kept  most  of  these  thoughts  to  himself  and 
his  wife,   the   squire's  daughter;   who   as   she   somehow 

thought  David  ought  to  have  married  her,  was  a  little 

161 


i62  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

bit    sentimental    about    him    and    considered    he    was    a 
Galahad. 

Old  Nannie  remained  as  usual  wistfully  puzzled,  half 
fearing  the  explanation  of  the  enigma  if  it  ever  came. 

Returned  to  London  and  Fig  Tree  Court  —  which  he 
was  soon  vacating  —  David  obtained  through  his  and  her 
bankers  a  passport  for  himself  and  another  for  Miss 
Vivien  Warren,  thirty-four,  British  subject,  and  so  forth, 
travelling  on  the  Continent,  a  lady  of  independent  means. 
He  re-arranged  all  David's  and  Vivie's  money  matters, 
stored  such  of  Vivie's  property  and  his  own  as  was  in- 
dispensable at  Honoria  Armstrong's  house  in  Kensington, 
and  left  a  box  containing  a  complete  man's  outfit  in  charge 
of  Bertie  Adams ;  bade  farewell  as  "  David  Williams  "  and 
"  Uncle  David  "  to  Honoria  and  her  two  babies,  and  to 
the  still  unkindly-looking  Colonel  Armstrong  (who  very 
much  resented  the  "  uncle  "  business,  which  was  perhaps 
why  Honoria  out  of  a  wholesome  taquinage  kept  it  up)  ; 
and  called  in  for  a  farewell  chat  with  dear  old  Praddy  — 
beginning  to  look  a  bit  shaky  and  rather  too  much  bossed 
by  his  parlour-maid.  Honoria  had  said  as  he  departed 
"  Do  try  to  run  up  against  Vivie  somewhere  abroad  and 
tell  her  I  shan't  be  happy  till  she  returns  and  takes  up  her 
abode  among  us  once  more.  '  Army  '  is  longing  to  know 
her."  ('Army'  didn't  look  it.)  "Now  pettums! 
Wave  handikins  to  Uncle  David.  He's  goin'  broadies. 
*  Army  '  dear,  would  you  ask  them  to  whistle  for  a  taxi  ? 
I  know  David  doesn't  want  to  walk  all  the  way  back  to 
the  Temple  in  those  lovely  button  boots." 

Praed  told  him  all  he  wanted  to  know  about  the  locali- 
ties of  the  Warren  Private  Hotels;  most  of  all,  that  at 
which  Vivie's  mother  resided  in  the  Rue  Royale,  Brus- 
sels. 

So  at  this  establishment  a  well  but  plainly  dressed  Eng- 
lish lady,  scarcely  looking  her  age  (thirty-four)  turned 
up  one  morning,  and  sent  in  a  card  to  the  lady-proprie- 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  163 

tress,  Mme.  Varennes.  This  card  was  closely  scanned  by 
a  heavy-featured  Flemish  girl  who  took  it  upstairs  to  an 
appartciiicnt  on  the  first  floor.     She  read : 

Miss  Vivien  Warren 

and  vaguely  noted  the  resemblance  of  the  two  names 
Varennes  and  Warren,  and  the  fact  that  the  establishment 
in  which  she  earned  a  lucrative  wage  was  one  of  the 
"  Warren  "  Hotels. 

With  very  short  delay,  Vivie  was  invited  to  ascend  in 
a  lift  to  the  first  floor  and  was  shown  in  to  a  gorgeously 
furnished  bedroom  which,  through  an  open  door,  gave  a 
glimpse  of  an  attractive  boudoir  or  sitting-room  beyond, 
and  beyond  that  again  the  plane  trees  of  a  great  boulevard 
breaking  into  delicate  green  leaf.  A  woman  of  painted 
middle  age  in  a  descente  de  lit  that  in  its  opulence  matched 
the  hangings  and  furniture  of  the  room,  had  been  reclining 
on  a  sofa,  drinking  chocolate  and  reading  a  newspaper. 
She  rose  shakily  to  her  feet,  when  the  door  closed  behind 
Vivie,  tottered  forward  to  meet  her,  and  exclaimed  rather 
theatrically  "  My  daughter  .  .  .  come  back  to  me  .  .  . 
after  all  these  years !  "  (a  few  tears  ran  down  the  rouged 
cheeks). 

"  Steady  on,  mother,"  said  Vivie,  propping  her  up,  and 
feeling  oh !  so  clean  and  pure  and  fresh  and  wholesome 
by  contrast  with  this  worn-out  woman  of  pleasure.  "  Lie 
down  again  on  your  sofa,  go  on  with  your  petit  dejeuner 
—  which  is  surely  rather  late  ?  There  were  signs  and  ap- 
petizing smells  of  the  larger  meal  being  imminent  as  I 
passed  through  the  hotel.  Now  just  lie  down  until  you 
want  to  dress  —  if  you  like,  I'll  help  you  dress"  (swal- 
lowing hard  to  choke  down  a  little  shudder  of  repulsion). 
"  I'm  not  in  any  hurry.  I've  come  to  Brussels  to  go  into 
matters  thoroughly.  For  the  present,  I  am  staying  at  the 
Hotel  Grimaud." 

Mrs.  Warren  was  convulsively  sobbing  and  ruining  the 


i64  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

complexion  she  had  just  made  up,  before  she  changed 
out  of  her  descente  de  lit:  "  Why  not  stop  here,  dearie? 
Don't  laugh !     There's  lots  that  do  and  never  suspect  for 
one  minute  it  ain't  hke  any  other  hotel ;  though  from  all 
I  see  and  hear,  all  hotels  are  pretty  much  the  same  now-a- 
days,   whether  they're  called  by  my  name  or  not.     Of 
course  a  man  might  find  out  pretty  quick,  but  not  a  woman 
who  wasn't  in  the  business  herself.     Why  we  actually 
encourage  decent  women  to  come  here   when  we  ain't 
pressed  for  room.     They  give  the  place  a  better  tone,  don't 
you  know.     There's  two  clergyman's  sisters  come  here 
most  autumns  and  stop  and  stop  and  don't  notice  any- 
thing.    They  come  in  here  and  chat  with  me,  and  once 
they  said  they  liked  foreign  gentlemen  better  than  their 
own  fellow-countrymen :     *  their  manners  are  so  affable/ 
Why  it  was  partly  through  people  like  that,  that  Igot  to 
hear  every  now  and  then  what  you  was  up  to.     Oh,  I 
wasn't  taken  in  long  by  that  David  Williams  business. 
Praddy  didn't  give  you  away  —  to  speak  of,  when  I  sent 
you  that  thousand  pounds  —  Lord,  I  was  glad  you  kept  it ! 
But  what  fixed  me  was  your  portrait  in  the  Daiiv  Mirror 
a  couple  of  years  ago  as  '  the  Brilliant  young  Advocate, 
Mr.  David  Vavasour  Williams.'     Somehow  the  '  Vava- 
sour '  seemed  to  fit  in  all  right,  though  what  you  wanted 
with  my  —  ahem  —  maiden  name,  with  what  was  pore 
mother's  reel  name,  before  she  lived  with  your  grand- 
father—  Well  as  I  say,  I  soon  saw  through  the  whole 
bag  o'  tricks  —  But  what  a  lark !     Beat  anythink  /  ever 
did.     What  have  you  done  with  your  duds  ?     Gone  back 
to  bein'  Vivie  once  more? — '' 

Vivie:  "  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  in  good  time.  But  I 
would  rather  not  stay  here  all  the  same.  I've  found  a 
quiet  hotel  near  the  station.  I  will  come  and  see  you  if 
you  can  make  it  easy  for  me ;  but  what  I  should  very  much 
prefer,  if  you  can  only  get  away  from  this  horrid  place, 
is  that  you  should  come  and  see  me.     Why  shouldn't  you 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  165 

give  yourself  a  fortnight's  holiday  and  go  off  with  me 
to  Louvain  .  .  .  or  to  Spa  ...  or  some  other  quiet  place 
where  we  can  talk  over  everything  to  our  heart's  con- 
tent?" 

Mrs.  Warren:  "  Not  a  bad  idea.  Do  me  a  lot  of  good. 
I  was  feeling  awfully  down,  Vivie,  when  you  came.  I 
wasn't  altogether  taken  aback  at  your  coming,  dearie,  'cos 
Praddy  had  given  me  a  kind  of  a  hint  you  might  turn  up. 
But  somehow,  though  everything  goes  well  in  business  — 
we  seldom  had  so  busy  a  time  as  during  this  last  Humani- 
tarian Congress  of  the  Powers  —  all  the  diplomats  came 
here  —  mostly  the  old  ones,  the  old  and  respectable  —  oh 
we  all  like  respectability  —  yet  I  never  'ad  such  low  spirits. 
My  gals  used  to  come  in  here  and  find  me  cry  in'  as  often 
as  not.  .  .  .  '  Comment,  Madame,'  they  used  to  say, 
'  pourquoi  pleurez  vous  ?  Tout  va  si  bien !  Quelle 
clientele,  et  pas  chiche ' —  I  suppose  you  understand 
French  ?  However  about  this  trip  to  the  country,  look  on 
it  as  settled.  I'll  pack  up  now  and  away  we  go  in  the 
afternoon.  And  not  to  any  of  your  measly  Hotels  or 
village  inns.  Why  I've  got  me  own  country  place  and  me 
own  auto.  Villa  de  Beau-sejour,  a  mile  or  so  beyond  the 
lovely  beech  woods  of  Tervueren.  Ain't  so  far  from 
Louvain,  so's  I  can  send  you  on  there  one  day  —  Ah ! 
There's  some  one  you'd  like  to  see  in  Louvain,  if  I  mis- 
take not!  You  always  was  one  for  findin'  out  things, 
and  maybe  I'll  tell  you  more,  now  you've  come  back  to 
me,  than  what  I'd  a  done  with  you  standing  up 
so  stiff  and  proud  and  me  unfit  to  take  up  the 
hem  of  your  skirt.  .  .  .  How  I  do  ramble.  Sup- 
pose it's  old  age  comin'  on"  (shudders).  "About 
this  Villa  de  Beau-sejour  ...  It  was  once  a  farm 
house,  and  even  now  it's  the  farm  where  I  get  me 
eggs  and  milk  and  butter  an'  the  fruit  and  vegetables  for 
this  hotel.  He  gave  it  to  me  —  you  know  whom  I  mean 
by  'He'?  .  .  .  don't  do  to  talk  too  loud  in  a  place  like 


i66  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

this.  .  .  .  They  say  he's  pretty  bad  just  now,  not  Hkely 
to  live  much  longer.  I  was  his  mistress  once,  years  ago 
— at  least  I  was  more  a  confidante  than  anvthins:  else. 
How  he  used  to  laugh  at  my  stories !  '  Que  tu  es  une 
drolesse,'  he  used  to  say.  I  never  used  to  mince  matters 
and  we  were  none  the  worse  for  that.  Bless  you,  he 
wasn't  as  bad  as  they  painted  him,  'long  of  all  this  fuss 
about  the  blacks.  As  I  say,  he  gave  me  the  Villa  de  Beau- 
sejour,  and  used  to  say  if  I  behaved  myself  he  might  some 
day  make  me  '  Baronne  de  Beau-sejour.'  How'd  you 
have  liked  that,  eh?  Sort  of  morganatic  Queen?  I  lay 
I'd  have  put  some  good  management  into  the  runnin'  of 
those  places.  Aie!  How  they  used  to  swindle  'im,  and 
he  believing  himself  always  such  a  sharp  man  of  business ! 
When  that  Vaughan  hussy.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  Very  well.  We'll  go  to  Villa  Beau-sejour, 
But  don't  give  me  too  many  of  your  reminiscences  or  I 
may  leave  you  after  all  and  go  back  to  England.  Whilst 
I'm  with  you,  you  must  give  up  rouge  and  patchouli  and 
the  kind  of  conversation  that  goes  with  them.  I'm  out 
here  trying  to  do  my  duty  and  duty  is  always  unpleasant. 
I  don't  want  to  be  a  kill- joy,  but  don't  give  me  more  of 
that  side  of  your  character  than  you  can  help.  It  —  it 
makes  me  sick,  mother.  .  .  ." 

[Mrs.  Warren  —  or  Madame  Varennes  —  whimpers  a 
little,  but  soon  cheers  up,  rings  the  bell  for  her  maid  pre- 
paratory to  dressing  and  being  the  business  woman  over 
her  preparations  for  departure.  She  notes  the  address  of 
Vivie's  hotel  and  promises  to  call  for  her  there  in  the  auto 
at  three  o'clock.  Vivie  leaves  her,  descends  the  richly  car- 
peted stairs  —  the  lift  is  worked  by  an  odiously  pretty, 
little,  plump  soubrette  dressed  as  a  page  boy  —  and  goes 
out  into  the  street.  Several  lounging  men  stare  hard  at 
her,  but  decide  she  is  too  English,  too  plainly  dressed,  and 
a  little  too  old  to  neddle  with.  This  last  consideration  is 
apparent  to  Vivie's  intelligence  and  she  muses  on  it  with 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  167 

a  wistful  little  smile,  half  humour,  half  regret.  She  will 
at  her  leisure  write  a  whole  description  of  the  scene  to 
Michael] 

Those  who  come  after  us  Vv'ill  never  realize  how  delight- 
ful was  foreign  travel  before  the  War,  before  that  War 
which  installed  damnable  Dora  in  power  in  all  the  coun- 
tries of  Europe,  especially  France,  Belgium,  Switzerland, 
Italy,  and  Holland.  They  will  not  conceive  it  possible 
that  the  getting  of  a  passport  (as  a  mere  means  of  rapidly 
establishing  one's  identity  at  bank  or  post-office)  was  a 
simple  transaction  done  through  a  banker  or  a  tourist 
agency,  the  enclosing  of  stamps  and  the  pa3'ment  of  a  shil- 
ling or  two;  that  there  was  no  question  of  visas  entailing 
endless  humiliation  and  back-breaking  delays,  waiting 
about  in  ante-rooms  and  empty  apartments  of  squalid, 
desolating  ugliness  situate  always  in  the  most  odious  parts 
of  a  town.  But  the  Foreign  Offices  of  Europe  were 
agreed  on  one  topic,  and  this  was  that  having  got  their 
feet  back  on  the  necks  of  the  people,  their  serfs  of  the 
glebe  should  not,  save  under  circumstances  hateful, 
fatiguing,  unhealthy  and  humiliating,  travel  through  the 
lands  that  once  were  beautiful  and  bountiful  and  are  so 
no  longer. 

So  :  Vivie,  never  having  consciously  been  abroad  before 
(though  she  was  later  to  learn  she  had  actually  been  born 
in  Brussels),  began  to  experience  all  the  delights  of  travel 
in  a  foreign  land.  She  woke  up  the  next  morning  to 
the  country  pleasures  of  Villa  Beau-sejour,  a  preposterous 
chateau-villa  it  might  be,  but  attached  to  a  charming 
Flemish  farm ;  with  cows  and  pigs,  geese  and  ducks,  plump 
poultry  and  white  pigeons,  with  clumps  of  poplars  and 
copses  of  hawthorns  and  wild  cherry  trees  wliich  joined 
the  little  domain  on  to  the  splendid  forest  of  Tervueren. 
There  were  the  friendly,  super-intelligent  big  dogs,  like 
bastard  St.  Bernards  or  mastiffs  in  breed,  that  drew  the 
little  carts  which  carried  the  produce  of  the  farm  to  the 


i68  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

markets  or  to  Brussels.  There  were  cheery  Flemish  farm 
servants  and  buxom  dairy  or  poultry  women,  their  wives ; 
none  of  them  particularly  aware  that  there  was  anything 
discreditable  about  Madame  Varennes.  They  may  have 
vaguely  remembered  she  had  once  lived  under  High  pro- 
tection, but  that,  if  anything,  added  to  her  prestige  in  their 
eyes.  She  was  an  English  lady  who  for  purposes  of  busi- 
ness and  may  be  of  la  haute  politique  chose  to  live  in  Bel- 
gium. She  v/as  a  kind  mistress  and  a  generous  patronne. 
Vivie  as  her  daughter  was  assured  of  their  respect,  and 
by  her  polite  behaviour  won  their  liking  as  well. 

"  You  know,  Viv,  old  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Warren  one  day, 
"if  you  played  your  cards  all  right,  this  pretty  place 
might  be  yours  after  I'd  gone.  Why  don't  yer  pick  up  a 
decent  husband  somewhere  and  drop  all  this  foolishness 
about  the  Suffragettes?  He  needn't  know  too  much 
about  me,  d'yer  see?  And  if  you  looked  at  things  sen- 
sible-like, you'd  come  in  for  a  pot  of  money  some  day; 
and  whilst  I  lived  I'd  make  you  a  good  allowance " 

"  It's  no  use,  dear  mother  '' —  involuntarily  she  said 
"  dear  "  :  her  heart  was  hungry  for  affection,  Wales  was 
rapidly  passing  out  of  her  sphere,  David's  business  must 
soon  be  wound  up  in  that  quarter  and  where  else  had  she 
to  go  ?  "  So  long  as  you  keep  on  with  those  Hotels  I 
can't  touch  a  penny.  I  oughtn't  to  have  kept  that  thou- 
sand, only  Praddy  assured  me  it  was  '  clean  '  money." 

Mrs.  W.:  "So  it  was.  I  won  it  at  Monte.  I  don't 
often  gamble  now,  I  hate  losing  money.  But  we'd  had  a 
splendid  season  at  Rocjuebrune  and  I  sat  down  one  day 
at  the  tables,  a  bit  reckless-like.  Seemed  as  if  I  couldn't 
lose.  When  I  got  up  and  left  I  had  won  Thirty  thousand 
francs.  So  I  says  to  myself  :  '  This  shall  go  to  my  little 
girl :  I'll  send  it  through  Praddy  and  he'll  pay  it  into  her 
bank.     Then  I  shan't  feel  anxious  about  her.'  " 

"  Mother !  what  a  strange  creature  you  are !  Such  a 
mixture  of  good  and  bad  —  for  I  suppose  it  is  bad,  I  feel 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  169 

somehow  it  is  bad,  trafficking  in  women's  bodies,  as  they 
put  it  sensationally.  Towards  me  you  have  always  been 
compact  of  kindness;  you  took  every  precaution  to  have 
me  brought  up  well,  out  of  knowledge  of  any  impurity; 
and  well  and  modernly  educated.  You  left  me  quite  free 
to  marry  whom  I  liked  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  you 
stuck  to  this  horrible  career.  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  Vivie.  I  did.  But  did  you  make  any  great 
effort  to  turn  me  from  it?  Besides,  is  it  horrible?  I 
won't  promise  much  for  Berlin  and  Buda-Pest  or  even 
Vienna,  because  I  haven't  been  in  those  directions  for 
ever  so  long,  and  the  Germans  are  reg'lar  getting  out  of 
hand,  they  are,  working  up  for  something.  I  dessay  if 
you  looked  in  at  the  Warren  Hotels  in  those  places  you 
might  find  lots  to  say  against  'em.  But  you  couldn't  say 
the  places  I  supervise  here  and  at  Roquebrune  are  so 
bad  ?  /  won't  stop  your  looking  into  'em.  The  girls  are 
treated  right  down  well.  Looked  after  if  they  fall  sick 
and  given  every  encouragement  to  marry  well.  I  even 
call  those  two  places  —  I've  giv'  up  me  Paris  house  this 
ten  years  —  I  even  call  them  my  '  marriage  markets.' 
Ah!  an'  I've  given  in  my  time  not  a  few  dots  to  decent 
girls  that  had  found  a  good  husband  dans  la  clientele. 
Why  they're  no  more  than  what  you  might  call  hotels  a 
bit  larkier  than  what  other  Hotels  are.  I've  never  in  all 
my  twenty  years  of  Brussels  management  had  a  row  with 
the  police.  .  .  .  And  as  to  all  this  rot  about  the  White 
Slave  Traffic  that  you  seem  so  excited  about  .  .  .  well 
I'm  not  saying  there's  nothin'  in  it.  ,  .  .  Antwerp,  Ham- 
burg, Rotterdam  —  you'd  hear  some  funny  stories  there 
.  .  .  but  only  if  you  went  as  David  Williams  in  your 
man's  kit  —  My!  what  a  wheeze  that's  bin!  .  .  .  And 
from  all  they  tell  me,  that  place  in  South  America  — 
Buenos  Aires,  is  a  reg'lar  Hell.  But  .  .  .  God  bless  my 
soul  .  .  .  there's  nothin'  to  fuss  about  here.  Our  young 
ladies  would  take  on  like  anything  if  you  forced  them  to 


I70  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

go  away  from  my  care.  It's  gettin'  near  the  time  when 
we  close  our  Roquebrune  estabhshment  for  the  summer, 
an'  the  girls  '11  all  be  goin'  back  to  their  homes  in  the 
mountains  and  fattenin'  up  on  new  milk;  still  if  you  go 
there  before  the  middle  of  May  you'll  see  things  pretty 
much  as  they  are  in  the  season ;  and  what's  more  you'll 
see  plenty  of  perfectly  respectable  people  stoppin'  there. 
Of  course  the  prices  are  high.  But  look  at  the  luxury! 
What  that  wicked  Bax  used  to  call  '  All  the  Home  Com- 
forts.' He  liked  'is  joke.  I  hear  he's  settlin'  down  at 
home  with  his  old  Dutch.  She's  bin  awful  good  to  him, 
I  must  say.  /  couldn't  stand  'im  long.  I  don't  often 
lose  me  temper  but  I  did  with  him,  after  he  got  licked  by 
Paul  Dombey,  and  I  threw  an  inkpot  at  his  head  and 
ain't  seen  him  for  a  matter  of  thirteen  or  fourteen  year. 
He  sold  out  all  his  shares  in  the  Warren  Hotels  when  he 
came  a  cropper." 

"  Well,  mother,  I'll  have  a  look  round.  I'm  truly 
glad  you're  quit  of  the  German  and  Austrian  horrors, 
though  you  must  bear  the  blame  for  having  organized 
them  in  the  first  place.  I  will  presently  put  on  David 
Williams's  clothes  and  see  what  I  can  see  of  them.  But 
if  you  want  me  to  be  a  daughter  to  you,  you'll  take  the 
first  and  the  readiest  opportunity  of  removing  your  name 
from  these  —  acJi!  —  these  legacies  of  the  Nineteenth 
century.  You'll  wind  up  the  Warren  Hotels'  Company, 
and  as  to  the  two  houses  you've  got  here  and  at  Roque- 
brune, you'll  turn  them  now  into  decent  places  where  no 
indecency  is  tolerated." 

Mrs.  Warren:  "  I'll  think  it  over  and  I  don't  say  as 
I  won't  give  in  to  you.  I'm  tired  of  a  rackety  life  and 
I'm  proud  of  you  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  (cries)  .  .  . 
ashamed  of  meself  .  .  .  ashamed  whenever  I  look  at  you. 
Though  I've  never  bin  what  I  call  had.  I've  helped  many 
a  lame  dog  over  a  stile.  .  .  .  That's  partly  how  3^ou  came 
into  existence  —  almost  the  only  time  I've  ever  been  in 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  171 

love  —  Many  years  ago  —  why,  girl,  you  must  be  —  get- 
ting on  for  thirty-five —  let  me  see  .  .  .  (muses).  Yes, 
it  was  in  the  winter  of  '73-74.  I'd  bin  at  Ostende  with  a 
young  barrister  from  London  .  ,  .  him  I  told  you  about 
once,  who  used  to  write  plays,  and  we  came  on  to  Brus- 
sels because  he  had  some  business  with  the  Belgian  Gov- 
ernment. He  left  me  pretty  much  to  myself  just  then, 
though  quite  open-handed,  don't  you  know.  .  .  .  One  day 
I  was  walking  through  one  of  the  poorer  streets  where 
the  people  was  very  Flemish,  and  I  stood  looking  up  at  an 
old  doorway  —  Dunno'  why  —  S'pose  I  thought  it  pic- 
turesque—  reminded  me  of  Praddy's  drawin's.  And  an 
old  woman  comes  up  and  says  in  French,  '  Madame  est 
Anglaise?  '  In  those  days  I  couldn't  hardly  speak  a  word 
o'  French,  but  I  said  '  Oui.'  Then  she  wants  me  to  come 
upstairs  but  I  thought  it  was  some  trap.  However  as  far 
as  I  could  make  out  there  was  a  young  Irishman  there, 
she  said,  lying  very  sick  of  a  fever  and  seemingly  had  no 
friends. 

"  Well :  I  took  down  the  address  and  the  next  day  I 
came  there  with  the  concierge  of  the  hotel  where  we  were 
staying,  and  under  his  protection  we  went  upstairs.  My ! 
it  was  a  beastly  place  —  and  your  poor  father  —  for  he 
was  your  father  —  was  tossing  about  and  raving,  with 
burning  cheeks  and  huge  eyes,  just  like  yours.  Well!  I 
had  plenty  of  money  just  then,  so  with  the  help  of  that 
concierge  we  found  a  decent  lodging  —  they  wasn't  so 
partic'lar  then  al^out  infection  or  they  didn't  think 
typhoid  infectious  —  I  took  him  there  in  an  ambulance, 
engaged  a  nurse,  and  in  a  fortnight  he  was  recovering. 
He  turned  out  to  be  a  seminarist  —  I  think  they  called  it 
—  from  Ireland  who  was  going  to  be  trained  for  the 
priesthood  at  Louvain  —  lots  of  Irish  used  to  come  there 
in  those  days.  And  somehow  a  fit  of  naughtiness  had 
overcome  him  —  he  was  only  twenty  —  and  he  thought 
he'd  hke  to  see  a  bit  of  the  world.     So  he'd  sloped  from 


172  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

his  college  and  had  a  bit  of  a  spree  at  Brussels  and 
Ostende.     Then  he  was  took  with  this  fever  — 

"  His  name  was  Fergus  O'Conor  and  he  always  said 
he  was  descended  from  the  real  old  Irish  Kings,  and  he 
was  some  kind  of  a  Fenian.  I  mean  he  used  to  go  on 
something  terrible  against  the  English,  and  say  he  would 
never  rest  till  they  were  drove  out  of  Ireland.  When  he 
got  well  again  he  was  that  handsome  —  well  I've  never 
seen  any  one  like  him,  unless  it's  you.  I  expect  when 
you  dress  up  as  David  Williams  you're  the  image  of  what 
he  was  when  I  fell  in  love  with  him. 

"  And  I  did.  And  when  me  barrister  friend  —  Mr. 
FitzSimmons  —  teased  me  about  it,  and  wanted  me  —  he 
having  finished  his  business  —  to  return  with  him  to  Lon- 
don I  refused.  Bein'  a  bit  free  with  me  speech  in  those 
days  I  dessay  I  said  '  Go  to  Hell.'  But  he  only  laughed 
and  left  me  fifty  pounds. 

"  Well,  I  lived  with  this  young  student  for  a  matter  of 
six  months.  A  lovely  time  we  had,  till  he  began  gettin' 
melancholy  —  matter  of  no  money  partly.  He  tried  bein' 
a  journalist. 

"  Then  the  Church  got  him  back.  There  came  about  a 
reg'lar  change  in  him,  and  just  at  the  time  when  yon  was 
comin'  along.  He  woke  up  one  night  in  a  cold  sweat  and 
said  he  was  eternally  damned.  '  Nonsense,'  I  says,  '  it's 
them  crayfish;  you  ought  never  to  eat  that  bisque 
soup.  .  .  .' 

"  But  he  meant  it.  He  went  back  to  Louvain —  where 
I'm  goin'  to  take  you  in  a  day  or  two  —  and  I  suppose 
they  made  him  do  all  sorts  of  penances  before  they  gave 
him  absolution.  But  he  stuck  to  it.  In  due  time  he  be- 
came a  priest  and  entered  one  of  them  religious  houses. 
They  think  a  lot  of  him  at  Louvain.  I've  seen  him  once 
or  twice  but  I  can't  bear  to  meet  his  eyes  —  they're  some- 
thin'  like  yours  - —  make  me  feel  a  reg'lar  Jezebel.  And 
as  to  you?     Well,  when  he  left  me  I  hadn't  got  much 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  173 

money  left;  so,  before  I  begged  a  passage  back  to  Eng- 
land, I  called  in  at  the  very  hotel  where  you  found  me  the 
other  day,  and  where  me  an'  my  barrister  friend  had  been 
stayin'.  I'd  got  to  know  the  proprietress  a  little  —  real 
kind-'earted  woman  she  was.  She  said  to  me  *  See  here. 
You  stop  with  me  and  help  me  in  the  bureau  and  have 
your  baby.  I'll  look  after  you.  And  when  you  can  get 
about  again,  stop  on  and  help  me  in  my  business.  I 
reckon  you're  the  type  of  woman  I've  bin  looking  out  for 
this  long  while.'  And  that's  how  the  first  of  the  Warren 
Hotels  was  started  and  that's  where  you  were  born  .  .  . 
in  October,  Eighteen  —  seventy  —  five '' 

(Vivie  gave  a  little  shudder,  but  her  mother's  thoughts 
were  so  intent  on  the  past  that  she  did  not  perceive 
it.) 

Airs.  Warren:  "  Dj'ever  see  yer  Aunt  Liz?  " 

Vivie  told  her  of  the  grim  experiences  already  touched 
on  in  Chapter  I. 

Mrs.  Warren:  "  Well  she  dropped  me  —  cowzpletely  — 
from  the  time  she  married  that  Canon.  And  I  respected 
her.  She  was  comfortably  off,  her  past  was  dead  and 
done  with.  D'yer  think  /  wanted  to  bother  'er?  Not  I. 
It  depends  so  much  on  the  way  you  was  born  and  brought 
up.  If  Liz  had  been  the  child  of  a  respectable  married 
couple  that  could  give  her  a  good  start  in  life,  'probability 
is  she'd  have  run  straight  from  the  first.  Dunno  about 
me.  I  was  always  a  bit  larky.  And  yet  d'you  know,  I 
think  if  yer  father  hadn't  been  a  sort  of  young  god,  with 
his  head  in  the  skies,  and  no  reg'lar  income,  if  he'd  a 
married  me  and  been  kind  to  me  ...  I  should  have  been 
an  honest  woman  all  the  rest  of  me  life.  .  .  . 

"  What  do  you  feel  about  morality?  You  don't  seem 
to  have  much  faith  in  religion,  yet  you've  always  taken  a 
high  line  —  and  somehow  I'm  glad  you  have  —  about 
things  that  never  seemed  to  me  to  matter  much.  We're 
given  these  passions  and  desires  —  and  my  !  don't  it  hurt, 


174  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

falling  in  love !  —  and  then  the  clergy,  though  they're 
awful  humbugs,  tells  us  we  must  deny  our  cravings.  .  .  ." 
Vivie:  "  In  the  main  the  clergy  are  right  in  what  they 
preach  though  they  give  the  wrong  reasons.  AVe  must 
try  to  regulate  our  passions  or  they  will  master  us,  stifle 
what  is  really  good  in  us.  My  solution  of  this  problem 
which  I  am  so  sick  of  discussing.  .  .  .  But  let's  finish 
with  it  while  we  are  about  it  —  my  solution  is  that  the 
State  and  the  Community  should  do  their  utmost  to  en- 
courage, subsidize,  reward  early  marriages ;  and  at  the 
same  time  facilitate  in  a  reasonable  degree  divorce.  Ap- 
ply both  these  remedies  and  you  would  go  far  to  wipe  out 
prostitution,  which  I  think  perfectly  horrible  —  I  —  I 
should  like  to  penalize  it.  Perhaps  it  is  the  Irish  ascetic 
in  my  constitution.  A  good  many  early  marriages  might 
be  failures.  Well  then,  at  the  end  of  ten  years  these 
should  be  dissolvable,  with  proper  provision  made  for  the 
children.  I  think  many  a  couple  if  they  knew  that  after  a 
time  and  without  scandal  their  partnership  could  be  dis- 
solved wouldn't,  when  the  time  came,  want  it.  While 
on  the  other  hand  if  you  made  the  tie  not  everlastingly 
binding,  young  people  —  especially  if  they  hadn't  to 
trouble  about  means  — would  get  married  without  hesita- 
tion or  delay.  I  should  not  only  encourage  that,  but  I 
should  give  every  woman  a  heavy  bonus  for  bringing  a 
living  child  into  the  world.  .  .  .  Now  let's  talk  of  some- 
thing else.     When  are  you  going  to  take  me  to  Louvain  ?  " 

*  *  *  * 

They  went  to  Louvain  a  few  days  later  and  Vivie's 
newly  awakened  senses  for  the  beautiful  in  art  revelled  in 
the  glorious  architecture,  so  much  of  which  was  after- 
wards wrecked  in  the  War. 

Walking  beneath  the  planes  in  a  narrow  street  between 
monastic  buildings,  they  descried  a  gaunt,  stately  figure 
of  a  Father  Superior  of  some  great  Order.     "There!" 


DAVID  GOES  ABROAD  175 

said  Mrs.  Warren ;  "  that's  him,  that's  your  father." 
They  quickened  their  pace  and  were  presently  alongside 
him.  He  flashed  his  great,  grey  eagle  eyes  for  a  con- 
temptuous second  on  the  face  of  Mrs.  Warren,  who  was 
all  of  a  tremble  and  could  not  meet  the  gaze.  Vivie,  he 
scarcely  glanced  at  as  he  strode  towards  a  doorway  which 
engulfed  him,  though  the  eyes  she  had  inherited  would 
have  met  his  unflinchingly. 

*  *  *  * 

David  Williams  duly  visited  Antwerp,  Rotterdam. 
Hamburg,  Berlin,  Vienna,  and  Buda-Pest.  j\Iuch  of 
what  he  saw  disgusted,  even  revolted,  him,  but  he  found 
few  of  his  fellow-countrywomen  held  captive  and  crying 
to  be  delivered  from  a  life  of  infamy.  On  his  return  to 
England  in  the  autumn  of  1909,  he  published  the  results 
of  his  observations ;  but  they  had  very  little  effect  on  con- 
tinental public  opinion. 

However  Mrs.  Warren  in  due  course  turned  her  two 
establishments  into  hotels  that  gradually  acquired  a  well- 
founded  character  of  propriety  and  were  in  time  included 
amongst  those  recommended  to  quiet,  studious  people  by 
first  class  tourist  agencies.  Their  names  were  changed 
respectively  from  Hotel  Leopold  H  to  Hotel  Edouard- 
Sept,  from  The  Homestead,  Roquebrune,  to  Hotel  du 
Royaume-Uni.  Mrs.  Warren  or  Mme.  Varennes  retired 
completely  from  the  management,  but  arranged  to  retain 
for  her  own  use  the  magnificently  furnished  appartement 
on  the  first  floor  of  the  Hotel  Eclouard-Sept  at  Brussels, 
where  Vivie  had  seen  her  in  the  late  spring  of  1909.  She 
still  continued  to  receive  a  certain  income  from  these  two 
admirably  managed  hostelries. 

Constrained  by  Vivie  she  bestowed  large  donations  on 
charitable  and  educational  institutions  affecting  the  wel- 
fare of  women  and  established  a  fund  of  Ten  thousand 
pounds  for  the  promotion  of  Woman  Suffrage  in  Great 


176  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Britain,  which  fund  was  to  be  at  Vivie's  disposal.  But 
even  with  these  sacrifices  to  hicnscance  she  remained  a 
lady  of  considerable  fortune. 

She  resisted  however  all  invitations  to  make  her  home 
in  England.  "  No,  dear;  I've  got  used  to  foreign  ways. 
I  hate  my  own  people ;  they're  such  damned  hypocrites ; 
and  the  cooking  don't  suit  my  taste,  accustomed  to  the 
best." 

But  she  gave  up  brandy  except  as  a  very  occasional 
cJmsse  after  the  postprandial  coffee.  She  no  longer  dyed 
her  hair  and  used  very  little  rouge  and  no  scent  but  laven- 
der. Her  hair  turned  a  warm  white  colour,  and  dressed 
a  la  Pompadour  made  her  look  what  she  probably  was  at 
heart  —  quite  a  decent  sort. 


CHAPTER  XII 

VIVIE    RETURNS 

HONORIA  ARMSTRONG,  faithful  in  friendship 
and  purpose  as  few  people  are  (though  she  abated 
never  a  whit  her  love  for  her  dear,  fierce,  blue-eyed, 
bristly-moustached,  battle-scarred,  bullying  husband)  pre- 
pared for  Vivie's  return  in  the  autumn  of  1909  by  se- 
curing for  her  occupancy  a  nice  little  one-storeyed  house 
in  a  Kensington  back  street;  one  of  those  houses  —  I 
doubt  not,  now  tenanted  by  millionaires  who  don't  want  a 
large  household,  just  a  roof  over  their  heads  —  that  re- 
main over  from  the  early  nineteenth  century,  when  Ken- 
sington was  emerging  from  a  country  village  into  villa- 
dom.  The  broad,  quiet  road,  named  after  our  late  dear 
Queen,  has  nothing  but  these  detached  or  semi-detached 
little  cottages  ornes,  one-storeyed  villas  with  a  studio  be- 
hind, or  two-storeyed  components  of  "  terraces,"  for 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile;  and  just  before  the  War,  build- 
ing speculators  were  wont  to  pace  its  pavements  with  a 
hungry  gaze  directed  to  left  and  right  buying  up  in  im- 
agination all  this  wasted  space,  pulling  down  these  pretty 
stucco  nests,  and  building  in  their  place  castles  of  flats, 
high  into  the  air.  I  don't  suppose  this  district  will  escape 
much  longer  the  destruction  of  its  graceful  flowering  trees 
and  vivid  gardens,  its  air  of  an  opulent  village ;  it  will 
match  with  the  rest  of  Kensingtonia  in  huge,  handsome 
buildings  and  be  much  sought  after  by  the  people  who 
devote  their  lives  —  till  they  commit  suicide  —  to  illicit 
love  and  the  Victory  Balls  at  the  Albert  Hall.  But  in 
1909  —  would  that  we  were  all  back  in  1909 !  —  it  was  as 

177 


178  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

nice  a  part  of  London  as  a  busy,  energetic,  sober-living 
spinster,  in  the  movement,  yet  Hiving  home  retirement  and 
Hlac-scented  privacy  —  could  desire  to  inhabit,  at  the  ab- 
surd rental  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  with  comparatively  low 
rates,  and  the  need  for  only  one  hard-working,  self-re- 
specting Suffragette  maid,  with  the  monthly  assistance  of 
a  charwoman  of  advanced  views. 

There  Vivie  took  up  her  abode  in  November  of  the  year 
indicated.  Honoria  lived  not  far  away,  next  door  but 
one  to  the  Parrys  in  Kensington  Square.  She  —  Vivie 
— •  was  aware  that  Colonel  Armstrong  did  not  altogether 
like  her,  couldn't  "  place  "  her,  felt  she  wasn't  "  one  of 
us,"  and  therefore  despite  Honoria's  many  invitations  to 
run  in  and  out  and  not  to  mind  dear  old  "  Army  "  who 
was  akvays  like  that  at  first,  just  as  their  Chow  was  —  she 
exercised  considerable  discretion  about  her  frecjuentation 
of  the  Armstrong  household,  though  she  generally  at- 
tended Honoria's  Suffrage  meetings,  held  whenever  the 
Colonel  was  called  away  to  Aldershot  or  Hythe. 

Honoria  by  this  time  —  the  close  of  1909  —  was  the 
mother  of  four  lovely,  healthy,  happy  children.  She 
would  give  birth  to  a  fifth  the  following  June  (1910), 
and  then  perhaps  she  would  stop.  She  often  said  about 
this  time  —  touching  wood  as  she  did  so — "could  any 
woman  be  happier  ?  "  She  was  so  happy  that  she  believed 
in  God,  went  sometimes  to  St.  Mary  Abl)ott's  or  St. 
Paul's,  Knightsbridge  —  the  music  was  so  jolly  —  and 
gave  largely  to  cheerful  charities  as  well  as  to  the  Suffrage 
Cause.  She  would  in  the  approach  to  Christmas,  1909, 
look  round  and  survey  her  happiness :  could  any  one  have 
a  more  satisfactory  husband?  O'f  course  he  was  a  man 
and  had  silly  mannish  prejudices,  but  then  without  them 
he  would  not  be  so  lovable.  Her  children  —  two  boys 
and  two  girls  —  could  you  find  greater  darlings  if  you 
spent  a  week  among  the  well-bred  childern  playing  round 
the  Round  Pond  ?     Such  natural  children  with  really  orig- 


VIVIE  RETURNS  179 

inal  remarks  and  untrained  ideas ;  not  artificial  Peter  Pans 
who  wistfully  didn't  want  to  grow  up ;  not  slavish  little 
mimics  of  the  Children's  stories  in  vogue,  pretending  to 
play  at  Red  Indians  —  when  every  one  knew  that  Red 
Indians  nowadays  dressed  like  all  the  other  citizens  of 
the  United  States  and  Canada  and  sat  in  Congress  and 
cultivated  political  "pulls"  or  sold  patent  medicines;  or 
who  said  "  Good  hunting  "  and  other  Mowgli  shibboleths 
to  m3'stified  relations  from  the  mid-nineteenth  century 
country  towns ;  nor  children  who  teased  the  cat  or  inter- 
fered with  the  cook  or  stole  jam  or  did  anything  else  that 
was  obsolete;  or  decried  Sullivan's  music  in  favour  of 
Debussy's  or  of  Scarlatini's  17th  century  tiraliras;  or 
wore  spectacles  and  had  to  have  their  front  teeth  in  gold 
clamps.  Just  clear-eyed,  good-tempered,  good-looking, 
roguish  and  spontaneously  natural  and  reasonably  self- 
willed  children,  who  adored  their  parents  and  did  not 
openly  mock  at  the  Elishas  that  called  on  them. 

Then  there  were  Honoria's  friends.  I  gave  a  sort  of 
list  of  them  in  Chapter  II  —  which  I  am  told  has  caused 
considerable  offence,  not  by  what  was  put  in  but  to  those 
who  were  left  out.  But  they  needn't  mind:  if  the  pro- 
testers were  nice  people  according  to  my  standard,  you 
may  be  sure  Honoria  knew  them.  But  of  all  her  friends 
none  was  dearer  and  closer  —  save  her  husband  —  than 
Vivie  Warren  —  pal  of  pals,  brave  comrade  of  the  un- 
flinching eyes.  And  somehow  Vivie  (since  she  fell  in 
love  with  Michael  Rossiter)  was  ten  times  dearer  than 
she  had  been  before:  she  was  more  understanding;  she 
had  a  brighter  eye,  a  much  greater  sense  of  humour;  she 
was  tenderer ;  she  liked  children  as  she  never  had  done  in 
bygone  years,  and  was  soon  adopted  by  the  four  children 
in  Kensington  Square  as  "Aunt  Vivie''  (They  also  — 
the  two  elder  ones  —  had  a  vague  remembrance  of  an 
Uncle  David  who  had  brought  them  toys  and  sweetmeats 
in  a  dim  past).     Aunt  Vivie  and  Mummie  used  to  get  up 


i8o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  most  amusing  Suffrage  meetings  in  the  long,  narrow 
garden  behind  the  house;  or  they  combined  forces  with 
Lady  Maud  Parry,  and  spoke  in  biting  contralto  or  mezzo- 
soprano  (with  the  compliant  tenor  or  baritone  of  here 
and  there  a  captive  man)  across  the  two  gardens.  Or 
somehow  they  commandeered  the  Square  Garden  on  the 
pretext  of  a  vast  Garden  Party,  at  which  every  one  talked 
and  laughed  at  once  over  their  Suffrage  views. 

Yes :  Honoria  was  happy  then,  as  indeed  she  had  been 
during  most  of  her  life,  except  when  her  brother  died  and 
her  mother  died.  What  did  she  lack  for  happiness? 
Nothing  that  this  world  can  give  in  the  opening  twentieth 
century.  .  .  .  not  even  a  very  good  pianola  or  a  motor. 
I  feel  somehow  it  was  almost  unfair  (in  my  rage  at  the 
inequality  of  treatment  meted  out  by  the  Powers  Beyond) . 
Shall  not  General  Sir  Petworth  Armstrong  die  in  the 
great  debacle  of  the  world-wide  War?  I  shall  see,  later. 
And  yet  I  feel  that  this  nucleus  of  pure  happiness  housed 
in  Kensington  Square  —  or  at  Petworth  Manor  —  was  to 
the  little  world  that  revolved  round  the  Armstrongs  like  a 
good  radiator  in  a  cold  house.  It  warmed  many  a  chilly 
nature  into  fructification ;  it  healed  many  a  scar,  it  bright- 
ened many  a  humble  life,  hke  that  of  Bertie  Adams's  hard- 
working, washerwoman  mother,  or  the  game-keeper's 
crippled  child  at  Petworth  or  the  newest,  suburbanest 
little  employe  of  Fraser  and  Clandge's  huge  establish- 
ment in  the  Brompton  Road.  It  pulled  straight  the  way- 
ward life  of  some  young  subaltern,  about  to  come  a 
cropper,  but  who  after  a  talk  or  two  with  that  jolly  Mrs. 
Armstrong  took  quite  a  different  course  and  made  a  decent 
marriage.  It  conjoined  with  many  of  the  social  activities 
for  good  of  one  who  might  have  been  her  twin  sister  — 
Suzanne  Feenix  —  only  that  Suzanne  was  twenty  years 
older  and  perhaps  an  inch  or  two  shorter.  Dear  woman ! 
My  remembrance  flashes  a  kiss  to  your  astral  cheek  — 
which  in  reality  I  should  never  have  dared  to  salute,  so 


VIVIE  RETURNS  i8i 

great  was  my  awe  of  Colonel  Armstrong's  muscles  —  as, 
at  any  reasonable  time  before  or  after  the  birth  of  your 
last  child  in  June,  1910,  you  stand  in  the  hall  of  your 
sunny,  eighteenth  century  house,  with  the  gold  and  green 
glint  of  the  Kensington  garden  behind  you :  saying  with 
your  glad  eyes  and  bonny  mouth  "  Come  to  our  Suffrage 
Party?  Such  a  lark!  We've  got  Mrs.  Pankhurst  here 
and  the  Police  daren't  raid  us;  they're  so  afraid  of 
'  Army.'  Of  course  he's  away,  but  he  knows  perfectly 
zvell  what  Fm  doing.  He's  quite  given  in.  Now 
Michael,  you  show  Sir  Harry  and  Lady  Johnston  to  the 
front  seats.  .  .  .'' 

(I  looked  round  for  the  rather  gloomy  presence  of 
Michael  Rossiter,  but  it  was  his  little  golden-haired  god- 
son she  meant. ) 

You  shall  have  your  general  back  safe  from  the  wars, 
with  a  wound  that  gives  only  honour,  a  reasonable  number 
of  well-earned  decorations,  and  a  reputation  for  rather 
better  strategy  than  Aldershot  generally  produces ;  and  he 
shall  live  out  his  wholesome  life  alongside  yours,  still 
dispensing  happiness,  even  under  a  Labour  Government : 
till,  as  Burton  used  to  wind  up  his  Arabian  Nights  love 
stories,  "  there  came  to  them  the  Destroyer  of  delight  and 
the  Sunderer  of  societies." 

Honoria  acted  towards  the  Suffrage  movement  some- 
what as  in  older-fashioned  days  of  Second  Empire  laxity 
well-to-do  people  evaded  military  service  under  conscrip- 
tion by  paying  a  substitute  to  take  their  place  in  the  fight- 
ing line.  Chi  account  of  her  husband,  and  the  children 
she  had  just  had  or  was  going  to  have,  she  did  not  throw 
herself  into  the  physical  struggle;  but  she  stiil  continued 
out  of  her  brother's  ear-marked  money  to  subsidize  the 
cause.  Rather  regretfully,  she  looked  on  from  a  motor, 
a  balcony,  a  front  window  or  the  safe  plinth  of  some  huge 
statue,  whilst  her  comrades,  with  less  to  risk  physically 


i82  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

and  socially,  matched  their  strength  of  will,  their  trained 
muscles,  their  agility,  astuteness  and  feminine  charm  (sel- 
dom without  some  effect)  against  the  brute  force  and  im- 
perturbability of  the  Police. 

The  struggle  waxed  hot  and  fierce  in  the  early 
months  of  1910.  Vivie  held  herself  somewhat  in  the 
background  also,  not  wishing  to  strike  publicly  and 
effectively  until  she  was  sure  for  what  principle  she 
endangered  her  life  and  liberty.  Nevertheless  she  be- 
came a  resource  of  rising  importance  to  the  Suffrage 
cause.  She  was  known  to  have  had  a  clever  barrister 
cousin  who  for  some  reasons  best  known  to  himself  had 
of  late  kept  in  the  background  —  ill-health,  said  some;  an 
unfortunate  love  affair,  said  another.  But  his  pamphlet 
on  the  White  Slave  Traffic  on  the  Continent  showed  that 
he  was  still  at  work.  Vivie  was  thought  to  be  fully  equal 
in  her  knowledge  of  the  law  to  her  cousin,  though  not 
allowed  to  qualify  for  the  Bar.  Case  after  case  was 
referred  to  her  with  the  hope  that  if  she  could  not  solve  it, 
she  might  submit  it  to  her  cousin's  judgment.  In  this 
way,  excellent  legal  advice  was  forthcoming  which  drove 
the  Home  Office  officials  from  one  quandary  to  another. 

But  Vivie  in  the  spring  of  191  o,  looking  back  on  nearly 
twelve  months  of  womanly  life  (save  for  David's  sum- 
mer of  continental  travel)  decided  that  she  didn't  like 
being  a  woman,  so  far  as  Woman  was  dressed  in  19 10  and 
for  three  or  four  hundred  years  previously. 

As  "  David  "  this  had  been  more  or  less  her  costume: 
an  undershirt  (two,  in  very  cold  weather) ,  a  pair  of  pants 
coming  down  to  the  ankle,  and  well-fitting  woollen  socks 
on  the  feet.  A  shirt,  sometimes  in  day-time  all  of  one 
piece  with  its  turn-over  collar;  at  worst  with  a  separate 
collar  and  a  tie  passed  through  it.  Braces  that  really 
braced  and  held  up  the  nether  garment  of  trousers;  a 
waistcoat  buttoning  fairly  high  up  (no  pneumonia  blouse) 
—  two  waistcoats  if  she  liked,  or  a  dandy  slip  buttoned 


VIVIE  RETURNS  183 

innocently  inside  the  single  vest  to  suggest  the  white  lie 
of  a  second  inner  vest.  Over  the  waistcoat  a  coat  or 
jacket.  On  the  head  a  hat  which  fitted  the  head  in  thirty 
seconds  (allowing  for  David's  shock  of  hair).  Lace-up 
or  button  boots,  with  perhaps  at  most  six  buttons ;  gloves 
with  one  button;  spats  —  if  David  wanted  to  be  very 
dressy  —  with  three  buttons.  On  top  of  all  this  a  warm, 
easily-fitting  overcoat  or  a  mackintosh.  If  you  were 
really  dressing  to  kill  (as  a  man)  it  might  take  half  an 
hour;  if  merely  to  go  about  your  business  and  not  be 
specially  remarked  for  foppishness,  twenty  minutes.  To 
divest  yourself  of  all  this  and  get  into  pai jamas  and  so  to 
bed:  ten  minutes.  But  when  Vivie  returned  to  herself 
and  went  about  the  world  of  1909-19 10,  and  merely 
wished  to  pass  as  an  inconspicuous,  modest  woman  she 
had  to  spend  Jwurs  in  dressing  and  undressing,  and  this  is 
what  she  had  to  wear  and  waste  so  much  of  her  time  in 
adjusting  and  removing:  — 

Next  the  skin,  merino  combinations,  unwieldy  garments 
requiring  a  contortionist's  education  to  put  on  without 
entangling  your  front  and  hind  limbs.  The  "  combies  " 
were  specially  buttoned  with  an  infinitude  of  small, 
scarcely  visible  buttons,  which  always  wanted  sewing  on 
and  replacing,  and  were  peevish  about  remaining  in  the 
button  hole.  Often,  too,  the  "combies"  (I  really  can't 
keep  writing  the  full  name)  had  to  be  tied  here  and  there 
with  little  white  ribbons  which  preferred  getting  into  a 
knot  (no  wonder  the  average  woman  has  a  temper!). 
When  the  "  combies  "  went  to  the  wash,  all  these  ribbon- 
lets  had  to  be  taken  out.  specially  washed,  specially  ironed, 
and  ingeniously  threaded  back  into  position. 

Next  to  the  combinations,  proceeding  outwards,  came 
the  corset,  a  most  serious  affair.  This  exceedingly  ex- 
pensive instrument  of  torture  was  compounded  chiefly  of 
silk  (which  easily  frayed)  and  whale-bone.  Many  good 
women  of  the  middle  class  have  gone  to  their  graves  for 


i84  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

three  hundred  years  believing  that  Ahnighty  God  had 
specially  created  toothless  whales  of  the  Family  Balcenidce 
solely  for  the  purpose  of  providing  women  with  the  only 
possible  ingredient  for  a  corset ;  and  for  three  hundred 
years,  brave  seamen  of  the  Dutch,  British  and  Basque 
nations  had  gone  to  a  watery  grave  to  procure  for  women 
this  indispensable  aid  to  correct  clothing.  But  these  fila- 
ments of  horny  palatal  processes  are  unamiable.  Though 
sheathed  in  silk  or  cotton,  they,  after  the  violent  move- 
ments of  a  Suffragette  or  a  charwoman,  break  through  the 
restraining  sheath  and  run  into  the  body  under  the  fifth 
rib,  or  press  forward  on  to  the  thigh.  Which  is  why  you 
often  see  a  woman's  face  in  an  omnibus  express  severe 
pain  and  her  lips  utter  the  exclamation  "  Ai'e,  Aie."  Then 
this  confounded  corset  had  to  be  laced  with  pink  ribbons 
at  the  back  and  in  front  and  both  lacings  demanded  un- 
usual suppleness  of  arms  and  sense  of  touch  in  finger- 
tips ;  and  w^hen  the  corset  went  to  the  wash  the  ribbons 
had  to  be  drawn  out,  washed,  ironed,  and  threaded  again. 

From  the  front  of  the  corset  hung  two  elastic  suspen- 
ders as  yet  awaiting  their  prey.  But  first  must  be  drawn 
on  the  silk  or  stockinette  knickerbockers  which  in  the  19 lo 
woman  replaced  the  piteously  laughable  drawers  of  the 
Victorian  period.  Then  the  suspenders  clutched  the  rims 
of  the  stockings  with  an  arrangement  of  nickel  and  rub- 
ber which  no  man  would  have  tolerated  for  its  inefficiency 
but  would  have  thrown  back  in  the  face  of  the  shopman 
and  have  been  charged  with  assault.  In  times  of  stress, 
at  public  meetings  the  suspenders  would  release  the  stock- 
ings from  their  hold,  and  the  latter  roll  about  the  ankles 
of  the  embarrassed  pleader  for  Woman's  Rights  ("  Who 
would  be  free,  themselves  must  strike  the  blow,"  and  first 
of  all  throttle  the  modiste,  thought  Vivie). 

Then  there  was  the  camisole  that  concealed  the  corset 
and  had  to  be  "  pinned  "  in  with  safety  pins.  The  knick- 
erbockers might  not  seek  the  aid  of  braces;  but  they  must 


VIVIE  RETURNS  185 

be  kept  up  by  an  elastic  band.  Over  the  camisole,  in 
1 9 10,  came  a  blouse,  pernickety  and  shiftless  about  its 
waist  fastening;  and  finally  a  hobble  skirt,  chiefly  kept 
up  by  safety  pins,  and  so  cut  l3elow  as  to  hamper  free 
movement  of  the  limbs  as  much  as  possible. 

Day-boots  often  had  as  many  as  twenty-one  buttons  — 
and,  mind  you,  not  sham  buttons,  as  I  used  to  think,  out 
of  swagger;  but  every  button  demanded  entrance  into  a 
practicable  button  hole.  Or  the  boots  themselves  were 
mere  shoes  with  many  buttoned  spats  drawn  over  them. 
All  the  boots  had  high  heels  and  the  woman  walked  so  as 
to  put  a  severe  strain  on  her  arched  instep  in  order  that 
she  might  bring  on  by  degrees  "  flat  foot  "  for  surgical 
treatment. 

Who  shall  describe  the  hats  of  19 10?  —  and  before  and 
since  —  in  all  but  the  very  poorest  women  ?  They  were 
enormous ;  and  so  were  the  hat-boxes ;  and  they  could  only 
be  held  on  to  the  head  by  running  hatpins  through  wisps 
of  hair. 

I  will  not  portray  the  evening  dresses  that  it  sometimes 
takes  a  kindly  husband  an  hour  to  fasten,  with  "  press- 
buttons  "  and  hooks  and  eyes ;  and  poor  Vivie  had  no 
husband  and  depended  on  her  suffragette  maid  because  at 
all  costs  she  mustn't  look  dowdy  or  the  woman's  cause 
might  suffer  at  Mrs.  Pethick  Lawrence's  receptions. 

As  to  night  gear:  of  course  Vivie  being  a  free  agent 
slept  in  David's  pai jamas.  She  had  long  ago  cut  the 
Gordian  knots  of  her  be-ribboned,  girdled  night  gowns  in 
favour  of  the  Indian  garment.  But  can  you  wonder  after 
this  true  recital  of  the  simplest  forms  of  a  decent  woman's 
costume  in  1909-19 10  and  even  now  (a  recital  drawn 
from  a  paper  on  Woman's  dress  delivered  by  David  on 
one  of  the  last  occasions  in  which  he  appeared  at  the 
Debating  Society  of  the  Inner  Temple  —  and  checked  by 
my  jury  of  matrons)  — can  you  wonder  that  Vivie  took 
very  hardly  to  giving  up  a  man's  life  in  the  clothes  of 


i86  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

David  Williams?  How  she  vowed  to  herself — fruit- 
lessly, because  now  she  is  one  of  the  best-dressed  women 
in  town  (in  a  quiet  way)  — that  she  would  one  day  en- 
franchise women  in  their  costume  as  in  their  citizenship  ? 
This  will  never  be  done  until  the  modistes  of  Paris,  in 
some  great  popular  uprising,  are  strangled  and  burnt  on 
the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 

At  the  19 lo  (January)  Election,  Michael  Rossiter  had 
been  returned  as  M.P.  for  one  of  the  Midland  Universi- 
ties, His  Science  had  certainly  suffered  from  liis  sup- 
pressed love  for  Vivie,  a  passion  which  secretly  tortured 
him,  yet  for  which  he  dared  ask  no  respite.  He  thought 
it  was  about  time  that  real  men  of  Science  entered  Parlia- 
ment to  check  the  utter  mismanagement  of  public  affairs 
which  had  been  going  on  since  1900.  He  proposed  to 
himself  to  make  a  succession  of  brilliant  speeches  (he 
really  was  an  admirable  and  fluent  lecturer)  on  Anthro- 
pology, Chemistry  —  Chemistry  ought  to  appeal,  e\'en  to 
City  men  because  it  made  such  a  lot  of  money  —  Eth- 
nology, Hygiene,  Geography,  Economic  Botany,  Regional 
Zoology,  Germ  Diseases,  Agriculture,  etc.,  etc.;  and  the 
absolute  necessity  of  giving  Woman  the  same  electoral 
privileges  as  Man.  He  was  always  well  inclined  that  way, 
but  after  he  realized  that  David  was  Vivie  he  became 
almost  an  embittered  Suffragist. 

The  Speaker  took  care  that  he  had  little  scope  for  his 
Anthropology,  Economic  Botany,  Chemistry,  Hygiene, 
etc.,  on  Votes  of  Supply:  but  he  got  in  some  nasty  blows 
in  the  Woman's  cause,  and  in  fact  was  so  strangely  ran- 
corous that  Ministers  looked  at  him  evilly  and  arranged 
that  he  was  not  placed  on  the  committee  of  the  Conciliation 
Bill ;  that  amusing  farce  with  which  the  Liberal  Ministry 
sought  in  1910  to  stave  off  the  Suffrage  dilemma. 

Rossiter  and  Vivie  seldom  met  except  at  public  recep- 
tions. Every  now  and  again  he  came  to  Suffrage  meet- 
ings when  she  was  going  to  speak;  and  how  well  she  spoke 


VIVIE  RETURNS  187 

then!  How  real  it  all  seemed  to  her!  How  handsome 
she  looked  (even  at  36)  and  how  near  she  was  to  tears 
and  a  breakdown ;  while  his  eyes  burned ;  and  when  he 
got  home  poor  little  Linda  was  in  despair  over  her  poor 
distraught  Michael,  who  could  find  no  happiness  or  con- 
tentment in  Ten  Thousand  a  year,  great  fame  as  the  chief 
inventor  of  the  Ductless  Glands,  and  the  man  who  had 
issued  a  taxonomic  classification  of  the  Bovidae  which 
even  satisfied  me. 

What  a  cruel  force  is  Love!  Or  is  the  cruelty  in  hu- 
man disciplinary  laws?  Here  were  two  persons  eminently 
suited  to  be  mates,  calculated  while  still  in  the  prime  of 
life  to  procreate  offspring  that  would  be  a  credit  to  the 
nation,  who  asked  for  nothing  more  in  life  than  to  lie  in 
each  other's  arms  —  after  which  no  doubt  they  would 
have  arisen  and  performed  the  most  wonderful  feats  in 
inductive  science  or  in  embroidery  or  mathematics.  And 
they  were  inwardly  raging,  losing  their  appetites,  sleeping 
very  badly  yet  eschewing  drugs,  pursuing  will-of-the- 
wisps  in  politics,  wasting  the  best  years  of  their  lives 
.  .  .  from  a  sense  of  duty,  that  sense  of  duty  which  has 
made  the  Nordic  White  man  the  dominant  race  on  the 
earth.  "  We  suffer  individually  but  we  gain  collectively," 
Rossiter  said  to  himself. 

In  May,  19 10,  King  Edward  died,  and  all  these 
gladiators,  male  and  female,  willingly  declared  a  Truce  in 
the  Suffrage  battle,  to  obtain  a  much  needed  rest  in  the 
weary  conflict.  As  soon  as  political  activities  were  re- 
sumed, the  Conciliation  Bill  by  the  energies  of  the  Liberal 
Whips  was  talked  out  (wasn't  it?).  At  any  rate  it  came 
to  nothing  for  that  Session.  Vivie  took  this  as  a  decision. 
She  openly  declared  that  the  Vote  never  would  be  given 
by  the  House  of  Commons  or  House  of  Lords  until  it 
was  wrung  from  the  Legislature  by  a  complete  dislocation 
of  public  aft'airs,  the  nearest  approach  to  a  revolution 
women  could  bring  about  without  rifles  and  cannon. 


i88  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Meantime  she  refused  to  be  duped  by  Ministers  or  by 
amiable  go-betweens.  She  resolved  instead,  perhaps  for 
the  last  time,  to  resume  the  clothes  and  status  of  David 
Williams,  go  down  to  Wales,  and  stay  with  her  father 
who  was  dying  by  slow  degrees. 

The  letters  which  the  curate  had  written  from  time  to 
time  to  D.  V.  Williams,  Esq.,  care  of  Michael  Rossiter, 
Esq.,  F.R.S.,  and  usually  forwarded  on  by  Bertie  Adams, 
had  told  David  how  much  the  Revd.  Howel  Williams  had 
failed  since  the  cold  spring  of  1909,  and  how  in  the  colder 
spring  of  19 10  he  had  once  or  twice  narrovv^ly  survived 
influenza.  In  July,  1910,  he  was  dying  of  heart  failure. 
Nevertheless  the  return  of  David,  his  well-beloved, 
brought  to  him  a  flicker  of  renewed  life,  a  little  pink  in 
the  cheeks,  and  some  garrulity. 

He  could  hardly  bear  his  darling  son  out  of  his  sight, 
except  for  the  narrowest  margin  of  necessary  sleep;  and 
often  David  slept  sitting  up  in  an  arm-chair  in  the  Vicar's 
bedroom.  The  Revd.  Howel  said  nothing  more  about 
grandchildren ;  often  —  with  a  finer  sense  —  spoke  to  him 
not  as  though  he  were  a  son,  but  as  a  beloved  daughter. 
At  last  he  died  in  his  sleep  one  night,  holding  David's 
hand,  looking  so  ineffably  happy  that  the  impostor  in- 
wardly gloried  in  his  imposture  as  in  one  of  the  best  deeds 
of  his  chequered  life. 

jjj  ^  ;ic  H^ 

The  will,  of  course,  had  not  been  changed,  and  David 
inherited  all  his  "  father's  "  property.  Out  of  it  he  settled 
£500  on  the  miner's  —  or  rather  Jenny's  —  son  who  prob- 
ably was  the  offspring  of  the  real  David  Williams's  boyish 
amour.  He  provided  a  handsome  annuity  for  poor, 
shaken,  old  Nannie;  and  the  rest  of  the  m.oney  after 
paying  all  expenses  he  laid  out  on  the  endowment  of  a 
Village  Hall  for  games  and  study,  social  meetings  and 
political  discussions,  together  with  provision  for  an  an- 


VIVIE  RETURNS  189 

nual  stipend  of  a  hundred  pounds  for  the  Vicar  or  curate 
of  the  parish  who  should  run  this  Hall :  which  was  to 
be  a  lasting  memorial  to  the  Reverend  Howel  Vaughan 
Williams,  so  learned  in  the  lore  of  Wales, 

Having  settled  all  these  matters  to  his  satisfaction,  and 
certainly  to  that  of  the  Revd.  Cadwalladr  Jones  (who 
succeeded  as  Vicar  of  Pontystrad  by  a  wise  nudging  and 
monetary  pressure  on  the  part  of  the  late  Vicar's  son), 
David  returned  to  London  at  the  close  of  1910,  took  off 
his  clothes  and  shed  his  personality.  It  was  bruited  that 
he  had  gone  abroad  to  nurse  a  health  that  was  seriously 
impaired  through  his  incredible  exertions  over  the  Shillito 
case.  He  left  his  cousin  Vivie  free  to  espouse  the  Suf- 
frage cause,  even  unto  the  extremest  militancy. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    SUFFRAGE    MOVEMENT 

THE  Conciliation  Bill  which  was  intended  to  give  the 
Parliamentary  Vote  to  a  little  over  one  million 
women  had  passed  its  Second  reading  on  July  12,  19 10, 
by  a  majority  of  no  votes;  in  spite  of  the  bitter  opposi- 
tion of  the  Premier,  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  the 
Home  Secretary,  the  President  of  the  Board  of  Trade, 
and  the  Secretary  for  the  Colonies.  The  Premier's  ar- 
guments against  it  were,  firstly,  that  "  Women  were 
Women" — this  of  course  was  a  deplorable  fact  —  and 
that  "  the  balance  of  power  might  fall  into  their  hands 
without  the  physical  force  necessary  to  impose  their  deci- 
sions, etc.,  etc.";  and  finally  "  that  in  Force  lay  the  ulti- 
mate appeal"  (rather  a  dangerous  incitement  to  the  sin- 
cere militants).  The  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  took 
up  a  more  subtle  attitude  than  the  undisguised,  grumpy 
hostility  of  his  leader. 

His  arguments  at  the  time  reminded  me  of  an  episode 
in  East  Africa  thirty  years  ago.  A  certain  independent 
Chief  tolerated  the  presence  on  his  territory  of  a  plucky 
band  of  missionary  pioneers.  He  did  not  care  about 
Christianity  but  he  liked  the  trade  goods  the  missionaries 
brought  to  purchase  food  and  pay  for  labour  in  the  erec- 
tion of  a  station.  These  trade  goods  they  kept  in  a  store- 
house made  of  wattle  and  daub.  But  this  temporary 
building  was  not  proof  against  cunning  attempts  at 
burglary  on  the  part  of  the  natives.  The  missionaries  at 
length  went  to  the  Chief  (who  was  clothed  shamelessly  in 

190 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  191 

the  stolen  calicoes)  and  sought  redress.  "  All  right,"  said 
the  potentate,  who  kept  a  fretful  realm  in  awe,  "  But  you 
have  no  proof  it  is  my  people  who  break  in  and  steal. 
You  just  catch  one  in  the  act,  and  then  you'll  see  what 
rildo." 

So  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  athletic  missionaries  sat 
up  night  after  night  under  some  camouflage  and  at  last 
their  patience  was  rewarded  by  the  capture  of  a  naked, 
oily-skinned  negro  who  emerged  from  a  tunnel  he  had  dug 
under  the  store-foundations.  Then  they  bore  him  off  to 
the  Yao  chieftain. 

"  Now  we  know  where  we  are,"  said  the  Chief. 
"  You've  proved  your  complaint.  We'll  have  him  burnt 
to  death,  after  lunch,  in  the  market  place.  I  presume 
you've  brought  a  lunch-basket  ?  " 

"Oh  no!"  said  the  horrified  propagandists:  "We 
don't  want  such  a  penalty  as  that.  .  .  ." 

"  Verv  good  "  said  the  Chief,  "  then  we'll  behead  him. 
.  .  ."     "No!     No!" 

"Crucify  him?"— "No!  No!"— "Peg  him  down 
over  a  Driver  Ants'  nest  ?  "     "No !     No !  " 

"  Then,  if  you  don't  want  any  rational  punishment,  he 
shall  go  free."     And  free  he  went. 

In  the  same  way  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  of 
those  days  was  so  hard  to  please  over  Suffrage  measures 
that  none  brought  forward  was  democratic  enough,  far- 
reaching  and  overwhelming  enough  to  secure  his  adhe- 
sion. He  was  therefore  forced  to  torpedo  the  Concilia- 
tion Bill,  to  snatch  away  the  half-loaf  that  was  better  than 
no  bread  at  all.  He  spoke  and  voted  against  these  tenta- 
tive measures  of  feminine  enfranchisement,  with  tongue 
in  cheek,  no  doubt,  and  hand  linked  in  that  of  Lulu  Grand- 
court  whose  opposition  to  any  vote  being  given  to  woman 
and  whole  attitude  towards  the  sex  was  so  bitter  that  he 
had  to  be  reminded  by  Lord  Aloysius  Brinsley  (who  like 
his  brother  Robert  was  a  convinced  Suffragist)  that  after 


192  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

all  he,  Lulu  Grandcourt,  had  deigned  to  be  bom  of  a 
woman,  had  even  —  ma^d^e  —  been  spanked  by  one. 

The  Speaker  had  hinted  on  the  occasion  of  the  second 
reading  of  the  Concilition  Bill  and  at  a  later  raising  of  the 
same  question  that  there  might  arise  all  sorts  of  obstacles 
to  wreck  the  Woman's  Franchise  measure  in  Committee ; 
obstacles  that  apparently  need  not  be  taken  into  account  as 
dangerous  to  any  measure  affecting  male  interests. 
Therefore  many  of  the  M.P.'s  timorously  voted  for  the 
second  reading  of  the  Conciliation  Bill  in  order  to  stand 
well  with  their  Constituencies,  yet  looked  to  the  Premier 
to  trip  it  up  by  some  adroit  use  of  Parliamentary  jiu-jitsu. 
They  were  not  disappointed  in  their  ideal  politician.  The 
Bill  after  it  had  passed  its  second  reading  by  a  large 
majority  was  referred  to  a  Committee  of  the  whole 
House,  which  seemingly  is  fatal  to  any  measure  that 
seeks  to  become  law. 

So  the  stale  summer  of  19 lo  wore  itself  away  in  re- 
criminations, hopings  against  probability  that  the  newer 
types  of  Liberal  statesmen  were  honest  men,  keepers  of 
promises,  not  merely  —  as  Vivie  said  in  one  of  the  many 
speeches  that  got  her  into  trouble  — "  Bridge-players,  first 
and  foremost,  golf-players  when  they  couldn't  play 
bridge,  or  speculators  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  champagne 
drinkers;  and  prone  to  eat  at  their  Lucullus  banquets, 
public  and  private,  till  they  sometimes  fainted  with  in- 
digestion." 

My !  But  she  was  bitter  in  her  Hyde  Park  speeches 
and  at  her  Albert  Hall  meetings  against  this  band  of 
mock-liberals  who  had  seized  the  impulse  of  the  country 
towards  reform  which  had  grown  up  under  the  Chamber- 
lain era  to  instal  themselves  in  power  with  the  financial 
backing  of  great  Americo-German-Jewish  internation- 
alists, who  in  those  early  years  of  the  Twentieth  century 
were  ready  to  stake  their  dollars  on  the  Free  Trade  British 
Empire  if  they  might  guide  its  policy. 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  193 

[Very  likely  if  they  had  obtained  the  complete  guidance 
they  sought  for  they  might  have  staved  off  this  ruinous 
war  by  telling  Germany  bluntly  she  must  keep  her  hands 
off  France  and  Belgium;  they  might  also  have  seen  to  it 
that  the  War  Office  7vas  reformed  and  the  British  army 
ready  to  fulfil  Lord  Haldane's  promises ;  for  there  is  no 
doubt  they  had  ability  even  if  they  despised  the  instru- 
ments they  worked  with.] 

But  as  I  say,  Vivie  was  a  bitter  and  most  effective 
speaker.  She  inflamed  to  action  many  a  warm-hearted 
person  like  myself,  like  Rossiter  (who  got  into  trouble  — 
though  it  was  hushed  up  —  in  1910-191 1  for  slapping  the 
face  of  a  Secretary  of  State  who  spoke  slightingly  of  the 
women  Suffragists  and  their  motives).  Yet  I  seem  to  be 
stranded  now,  with  a  few  others,  in  my  pre-war  en- 
thusiasm over  the  woman's  cause,  or,  later,  my  horror  at 
the  German  treatment  of  Belgium. 

Where  are  the  snows  of  yester-year;  where  is  the  ani- 
mosity which  in  the  years  between  the  burking  of  the 
Conciliation  Bill  and  the  spring  of  19 14  grew  up  between 
the  disinterested  Reformers  who  wanted  Woman  enfran- 
chised and  the  Liberal  ministers  who  fought  so  doggedly, 
so  unscrupulously,  against  such  a  rational  completion  of 
representative  government?  The  other  day  I  glanced  at 
a  newspaper  and  saw  that  Sir  Michael  and  Lady  Rossiter 
had  been  dining  at  the  Ritz  with  the  Grandcourts,  Princess 
Belasco,  Sir  Abel  Batterby,  the  great  Police  Surgeon, 
knighted  for  his  skill  and  discretion  in  forcible  feeding, 
and  the  George  Bounderbys  (G.  B.  was  the  venomous 
Private  Secretary  of  a  former  Chancellor  of  the  Exche- 
quer and  put  him  up  to  most  of  his  anti-suffrage  dodges)  ; 
and  meeting  Vivien  Rossiter  soon  afterwards  I  said, 
"How  could  you?"  "How  could  I  what?"  "Dine 
with  the  people  you  once  hated."  "  Oh  I  don't  know,  it's 
all  past  and  done  with;  we've  got  tke  Vote  and  somehow 
after  those  years  in  Brussels  I  seem  to  have  no  hates  and 


194  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

few  loves  left  " —  However  this  is  anticipating.  I  only 
insert  this  protest  because  I  may  seem  to  be  expressing  a 
bitterness  the  protagonists  have  ceased  to  feel,  a  triumph 
at  the  victory  of  their  cause  which  produces  in  them 
merely  a  yawn. 

Where  is  Mrs.  Pankhurst?  Somehow  one  thought  she 
would  never  rest  till  she  was  in  the  Cabinet.  And 
Christabel  ?  And  Annie  Kenney  ?  Married  perchance  to 
some  permanent  under  Secretary  of  State  and  viewing 
"  direct  action  "  with  growing  disapproval. 

And  the  Pethick  Lawrences  ?  Some  one  told  me  the 
other  day  that  they'd  almost  forgotten  what  it  felt  like 
to  be  forcibly  fed. 

But  in  November,  1910,  we  all  —  we  that  were  whole- 
hearted reformers,  true  Liberals,  not  wolves  in  sheep's 
clothing,  took  very  much  to  heart  what  happened  on  the 
1 8th  of  that  month,  when  the  Prime  Minister  of  the  time 
announced  that  the  Conference  between  the  House  of 
Lords  and  the  House  of  Commons  on  the  Veto  question 
having  broken  down  he  had  advised  His  Majesty  to  dis- 
solve Parliament.  This  meant  that  the  Conciliation  Bill 
was  finally  done  for;  while  the  declaration  of  the  Prime 
Minister  as  to  the  future  Programme  of  the  Liberal  Party, 
if  it  was  returned  to  power,  excluded  any  mention  of  a 
Woman's  enfranchisement  Bill. 

On  Black  Friday,  November  iSth,  Vivie  was  present 
at  the  meeting  in  Caxton  Hall  when  Mrs.  Pankhurst 
explained  the  position  to  the  Suffragist  women  assembled 
there.  Her  blood  was  fired  by  the  recital  of  their  wrongs 
and  she  was  prominent  among  the  four  hundred  and  fifty 
volunteers  who  came  forward  to  accompany  Mrs.  Pank- 
hurst, Dr.  Garret  Anderson  and  Susan  Knipper-Totes 
(the  two  last,  infirm  old  ladies)  when  they  proposed  to 
march  to  the  Houses  of  Parliament  to  exercise  their  risjht 
of  presenting  a  petition. 

The  women  proceeded  to  Parliament  Square  in  small 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  195 

groups  so  as  to  keep  within  the  letter  of  the  law.  Some 
like  Vivie  carried  banners  with  pitiful  devices  —  "  Where 
there's  a  Bill  there's  a  Way,"  "  Women's  Will  Beats 
Asquith's  Skill,"  and  so  on.  .  .  .  She  wished  she  had 
given  more  direct  attention  to  these  mottoes,  but  much  of 
this  procedure  had  been  got  up  on  impulse  and  little 
preparation  made.  It  was  near  to  four  o'clock  on  a  fine 
Noveml^er  afternoon  when  the  four  hundred  and  fifty 
women  began  their  movement  towards  Parliament  Square. 
A  red  sun  was  sinking  behind  the  House  of  Lords,  the 
blue  of  the  misty  buildings  and  street  openings  was  en- 
hanced by  the  lemon  yellow  lights  of  the  newly-lit  lamps". 
The  avenues  converging  on  the  Houses  of  Parliament 
were  choked  with  people,  and  vehicles  had  to  be  diverted 
from  the  streets.  The  men  in  the  watching  crowd  covered 
the  pavements  and  island  "  refuges,"  leaving  the  roadways 
to  the  little  groups  of  struggling  women,  and  the  large 
force  —  a  thousand  or  more  —  of  opposing  police. 

It  was  said  at  the  time  that  the  Government  of  the  day, 
realizing  by  their  action  or  inaction  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons they  had  provoked  this  movement  of  Mrs.  Pank- 
hurst's,  had  prepared  the  policy  with  which  to  meet  it. 
As  on  the  eve  of  a  General  Election  it  might  be  awkward 
if  they  made  many  arrests  of  women  —  perchance  Liberal 
women  —  on  their  way  to  the  House  to  present  a  petition 
or  escort  a  deputation,  the  police  should  be  instructed 
instead  to  repel  the  Suffragists  by  force,  to  give  them  a 
taste  of  that  "  fright  fulness  "  which  became  afterwards 
so  familiar  a  weapon  in  the  Prussian  armoury.  Some 
said  also  that  the  Government  looked  to  the  crowd  which 
was  allowed  to  form  unchecked  on  the  pavements,  the 
crowd  of  rough  men  and  boys  —  costers  from  Lambeth, 
longshore  men  from  the  barges  on  the  unembanked  West- 
minster riverside,  errand  boys,  soldiers,  sailors,  clerks  re- 
turning home,  warehousemen,  the  tag-rag  and  bob-tail 
generally  of  London  when  a  row  is  brewing  —  looked  to 


196  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

this  crowd  to  catch  fire  from  the  brutahty  of  the  police 
(uniformed  and  in  plain  clothes)  and  really  give  the 
women  clamouring  for  the  Vote  "  what  for  " ;  teach  them 
a  lesson  as  to  what  the  roused  male  can  do  when  the 
female  passes  the  limits  of  domestic  license.  A  few 
deaths  might  result  (and  did),  and  many  injuries,  but 
the  treatment  they  received  would  make  such  an  impres- 
sion on  Mrs.  Pankhurst's  followers  that  they  would  at 
last  realize  the  futility  of  measuring  their  puny  force 
against  the  muscle  of  man.  Force,  as  the  Premier  had 
just  said,  must  be  the  decisive  factor. 

But  unfortunately  for  these  calculations  the  large  male 
crowd  took  quite  a, different  line.  The  day  had  gone  by 
when  men  and  boys  were  wont  to  cry  to  some  expounding 
Suffragette:  "Go  home  and  mind  yer  biby."  Dimly 
these  toilers  and  moilers,  these  loafers  and  wasters  now 
understood  that  women  of  a  courage  rarely  matched  in 
man  were  fighting  for  the  cause  of  all  ill-governed,  mal- 
administered,  swindled,  exploited  people  of  either  sex. 
The  mass  of  men,  in  the  mass,  is  chivalrous.  It  admires 
pluck,  patience,  and  persistency.  So  the  crowd  instead  of 
aiding  the  police  to  knock  sense  into  the  women  began  to 
take  sides  with  the  buffeted,  brutalized  and  bleeding 
Suft'ragettes. 

Fortunately  before  the  real  fighting  began,  and  no  doubt 
as  a  stroke  of  policy  on  the  part  of  some  Police  Inspector, 
Mrs.  Pankhurst  convoying  the  two  frail  old  ladies  —  Dr. 
Garret  Anderson  and  Susan  Knipper-Totes  —  champions 
of  the  Vote  when  Woman  Suffrage  was  outside  practical 
politics  —  had  reached  the  steps  of  the  Strangers'  entrance 
to  the  House  of  Commons.  From  this  point  of  'vantage 
a  few^  of  the  older  leaders  of  the  deputation  were  able  to 
witness  the  four  or  five  hours'  struggle  in  and  around 
Parliament  Square,  the  Abbey,  Parliament  Street,  Great 
George  Street  which  made  Black  Friday  one  of  the  note- 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  197 

worthy  days  in  British  history  —  though,  more  nostra,  it 
will  be  long  before  it  is  inserted  in  school  books. 

Here,  while  something  like  panic  signalized  the  Legis- 
lative Chamber  and  Cabinet  ministers  scurried  in  and  out 
like  flurried  rabbits  and  finally  took  refuge  in  their  private 
rooms  —  here  was  fought  out  the  decisive  battle  between 
physical  and  moral  force  over  the  suffrage  question.  The 
women  were  so  c.valtccs  that  they  were  ready  to  face  death 
for  their  cause.  The  police  were  so  exasperated  that  they 
saw  red  and  some  went  mad  with  sex  mania.  It  was  a 
horrible  spectacle  in  detail.  Men  with  foam  on  their 
moustaches  were  gripping  women  by  the  breasts,  tearing 
open  their  clothing,  and  proceeding  to  rabid  indecencies. 
Or,  if  not  sex-mad,  they  twisted  their  arms,  turned  back 
their  thumbs  to  dislocation,  rained  blows  with  fists  on  pale 
faces,  covering  them  with  blood.  They  tore  out  golden 
hair  or  thin  grey  locks  with  equal  disregard.  Mounted 
police  were  summoned  to  overawe  the  crowd,  which  by 
this  time  whether  suffragist  and  female,  or  neutral,  non- 
committal and  male,  was  giving  the  police  on  foot  a  very 
nasty  time.  The  four  hundred  and  fifty  women  of  the 
original  impulse  had  increased  to  several  thousand.  Dusk 
had  long  since  deepened  into  a  night  lit  up  with  arc  lamps 
and  the  golden  radiance  of  great  gas-lamp  clusters. 
Flares  were  lighted  to  enable  the  police  to  see  better  what 
they  were  doing  and  who  were  their  assailants.  But  the 
women  showed  complete  indifference  to  the  horses;  and 
the  horses  with  that  exquisite  forbearance  that  the  horse 
can  show  to  the  distraught  human,  did  their  utmost  not  to 
trample  on  small  feet  and  outspread  hands. 

Here  and  there  humanity  asserted  itself.  One  police- 
man —  helmetless,  his  fair,  blond  face  scratched  and 
bleeding  —  had  in  berserkr  rage  felled  a  young  woman  in 
the  semi-darkness.  He  bore  his  senseless  victim  into  the 
shelter  of  some  nook  or  cloister  and  turned  on  her  his 


198  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

bull's  eye  lantern.  She  was  a  beautiful  creature,  in  pri- 
vate life  a  waitress  at  a  tea  shop.  Her  hat  was  gone  and 
her  hair  streamed  over  her  drooping  face  and  slender 
shoulders.  The  policeman  overcome  with  remorse  ex- 
claimed —  mentioning     the     Home     Secretary's     name 

" be  damned;  this  ain't  the  job  for  a  decent  man." 

The  Suffragette  revived  under  his  care.  He  escorted  her 
home,  resigned  from  the  police  force,  married  her  and  I 
believe  has  lived  happily  ever  afterwards,  if  he  was  not 
killed  in  the  War. 

Vivie  had  struggled  for  about  two  hours  to  reach  the 
precincts  of  the  House,  with  or  without  her  banner. 
Probably  without,  because  she  had  freely  used  its  staff 
as  a  weapon  of  defence,  and  her  former  skill  in  fencing 
stood  her  in  good  stead.  But  at  last  she  was  gripped  by 
two  constables,  one  of  them  an  oldish  man  and  the  other  a 
plain-clothes  policeman,  whom  several  spectators  had 
singled   out   for  his  pleasure  in  needless  brutalities. 

These  men  proceeded  to  give  her  "  punishment,"  and 
involuntarily  she  shrieked  with  mingled  agony  of  pain 
and  outraged  sex-revolt.  A  man  who  had  paused  irres- 
olutely on  the  kerb  of  a  street  refuge  came  to  her  aid. 
He  dealt  the  grey-haired  constable  a  blow  that  sent  him 
reeling  and  then  seized  the  plain-clothes  man  by  his  coat 
collar.  A  struggle  ensued  which  ended  in  the  intervener 
being  flung  with  such  violence  on  the  kerb  stone  that  he 
was  temporarily  stunned.  Presently  he  found  himself 
being  dragged  along  with  his  heels  dangling,  while  Vivie, 
described  in  language  which  my  jury  of  matrons  will  not 
allow  me  to  repeat,  was  being  propelled  alongside  him, 
her  clothes  nearly  torn  off  her,  to  some  police  station 
where  they  were  placed  under  arrest.  As  soon  as  they 
had  recovered  breath  and  complete  consciousness,  had 
wiped  the  blood  from  cut  heads,  noses,  and  lips,  they 
looked  hard  at  each  other.  "  Thank  you  so  much,"  said 
Vivie,  "  it  zvas  good  of  you."     "  That's  enough,"   said 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  199 

her  defender,  "  it  wanted  the  voice  to  make  me  sure;  but 
somehow  I  thought  all  along  it  was  Vivie.  Don't  you 
know  me?     Frank  Gardner !  " 

While  waiting  for  the  formalities  to  be  concluded  and 
their  transference  to  cells  in  which  they  were  to  pass  the 
night,  Frank  told  Vivie  briefly  that  he  had  returned  from 
Rhodesia  a  prosperous  man  on  a  brief  holiday  leaving  his 
wife  and  children  to  await  his  return.  Hearing  there  was 
likely  to  be  an  unusual  row  that  evening  over  the  Suffrage 
question  he  had  sauntered  down  from  the  Strand  to  see 
what  was  going  on  and  had  been  haunted  by  the  convic- 
tion that  he  would  meet  Vivie  in  the  middle  of  the  con- 
flict. But  when  he  rushed  to  her  defence  his  action  was 
instinctive,  the  impulse  of  any  red-blooded  man  to  defend 
a  woman  that  was  being  brutally  maltreated. 

The  next  morning  they  were  haled  before  the  magis- 
trate. Michael  Rossiter  was  in  court  as  a  spectator,  fever- 
ishly anxious  to  pay  Vivie's  fine  or  to  find  bail,  or  in  all 
and  every  way  to  come  to  her  relief.  He  seemed  rather 
mystified  at  the  sight  of  Frank  Gardner  arraigned  with 
her.  But  presently  the  prosecuting  counsel  for  the  Chief 
Commissioner  of  Police  arrived  and  told  the  astonished 
magistrate  it  was  the  wish  of  the  Home  Secretary  that  the 
prisoners  in  the  dock  should  all  be  discharged,  Vivie  and 
Frank  Gardner  among  them.  At  any  rate  no  evidence 
would  be  tendered  by  the  prosecution. 

So  they  were  released,  as  also  was  each  fresh  batch  of 
prisoners  brought  in  after  them.  Vivie  went  in  a  cab  to 
her  house  in  the  Victoria  Road ;  Frank  back  to  his  hotel. 
Both  had  promised  to  foregather  at  Rossiter's  house  in 
Portland  Place  at  lunch. 

Hitherto  Vivie  had  refrained  from  entering  No.  i  Park 
Crescent.  She  had  not  seen  it  or  Mrs.  Rossiter  since 
David's  attack  of   faintness  and  hysteria   in   February, 


200  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

1909,  nearly  two  years  ago.  Why  she  went  now  she 
scarcely  knew,  logically.  It  was  unwise  to  renew  rela- 
tions too  closely  with  Rossiter,  who  showed  his  solicitude 
for  her  far  too  plainly  in  his  face.  The  introduction  to 
Linda  Rossiter  in  her  female  form  would  be  embarrassing 
and  would  doubtless  set  that  good  lady  questioning  and 
speculating. 

Yet  she  felt  she  must  see  Rossiter  —  writing  was  al- 
ways dangerous  and  inadequate  —  and  reason  with  him ; 
beg  him  not  to  spoil  his  own  chances  in  life  for  her,  not 
lose  his  head  in  politics  and  personal  animosities  on  her 
behalf,  as  he  seemed  likely  to  do.     Already  people  were 

speaking  of  him  as  a  parallel  to ,  and ,  and 

(you  can  fill  the  blanks  for  yourself  with  the  names  of 
great  men  of  science  who  have  become  ineffective,  quarrel- 
some, isolated  members  of  Parliament)  ;  saying  it  was  a 
great  loss  to  Science  and  no  gain  to  the  legislature. 

As  to  Frank  Gardner,  she  was  equally  eager  for  a  long 
explanatory  talk  with  him.  Except  that  her  life  had 
inured  her  to  surprises  and  unexpected  meetings,  it  was 
sufficiently  amazing  that  Frank  and  she,  who  had  not  seen 
each  other  or  touched  hands  for  thirteen  years,  should 
meet  thus  in  a  dangerous  scuffle  in  a  dense  struggling 
crowd  outside  the  Houses  of  Parliament.  She  must  so 
arrange  matters  after  lunch  that  Frank  should  not 
prevent  her  hour's  talk  with  Rossiter,  yet  should  have  the 
long  explanation  he  himself  deserved.  An  idea.  She 
would  telephone  to  Praddy  and  invite  herself  and  Frank 
to  tea  at  his  studio  after  she  had  left  the  Rossiters. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  was  used  to  unexpected  guests  at  lunch. 
People  on  terms  of  familiarity  dropped  in,  or  the  Pro- 
fessor detained  some  colleague  or  pupil  and  made  him  sit 
down  to  the  meal  which  was  always  prepared  and  seated 
for  four.  Therefore  she  was  not  particularly  taken 
aback  when  her  husband  appeared  at  five  minutes  to  one 
in  the  little  drawing-room  and  after  requesting  that  the 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  201 

macaw  and  the  cockatoo  might  be  removed  for  the  nonce 
to  a  back  room  —  as  they  made  sustained  conversation 
impossible,  announced  that  he  expected  momently  —  ah ! 
there  was  the  bell  —  two  persons  whose  acquaintance  he 
was  sure  Linda  would  like  to  make.  One  was  Captain 
Frank  Gardner,  who  owned  a  big  ranch  in  Rhodesia,  and 
—  er  —  the  other  —  oh  no !  no  relation  —  was  Miss 
Warren.  .  .  . 

"  \\^hat.  one  of  the  Warrens  of  Huddersfield?  Well, 
I  never !  And  where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?  Strange  she 
shouldn't  have  written  to  me  she  was  coming  up  to  town ! 
I  could " 

"  No,  this  is  a  ]\Iiss  Vivien  Warren  — " 

"  Vivien?  How  curious,  why  that  is  the  name  of  the 
Adams's  little  girl " 

"  A  Miss  Vivien  Warren,"  went  on  Rossiter  patiently 
— "  a  well-known  Suffragist  who " 

"Oh  Michael!  A' of  a  Suffragette!"  wailed  Mrs. 
Rossiter,  imagining  vitriol  was  about  to  be  thrown  over 
the  surviving  pug  and  damage  done  generally  to  the  fur- 
niture —  But  at  this  moment  the  butler  announced : 
"  Captain  Frank  Gardner  and  Miss  Warren." 

Gardner  was  well  enough,  a  lean  soldierly-looking  man, 
brown  with  the  African  sun,  with  pleasant  twinkling  blue 
eyes,  a  thick  moustache  and  curly  hair,  just  a  little  thin 
on  the  top.  His  face  was  rather  scarred  with  African 
adventure  and  did  not  show  much  special  trace  of  his 
last  night's  tussle  with  the  police.  There  was  a  cut  at 
the  back  of  his  head  where  he  had  fallen  on  the  kerb  stone 
but  that  was  neatly  plastered,  and  you  do  not  turn  your 
back  much  on  a  hostess,  at  any  rate  on  first  introduction. 

But  Vivie  had  obviously  been  in  the  wars.  She  had  — 
frankly  —  a  black  eye,  a  cut  and  swollen  lip,  and  her  or- 
dinarily well-shaped  nose  w-as  a  trifle  swollen  and  red- 
dened. But  her  eyes  likewise  were  twinkling,  though  the 
bruised  one  was  bloodshot. 


202  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

"  I'm  sorry,  Mrs.  Rossiter,  to  be  introduced  to  you 
like  this.  I  don't  know  zvJmt  you  will  think  of  me.  It's 
the  first  time  I've  been  in  a  really  bad  row.  .  .  .  We  were 
trying  to  get  to  the  House  of  Commons,  but  the  police 
interfered  and  gave  us  the  full  privileges  of  a  man  as 
regards  their  fists.  Captain  Gardner  here  —  who  is  an 
old  friend  of  mine  —  intervened,  or  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't 
have  got  oft'  as  cheaply  as  I  did.  And  your  husband 
kindly  came  to  the  police  court  to  testify  to  our  good 
character,  and  then  invited  us  to  lunch." 

Mrs.  Rossiter:  "  Why  how  your  voice  reminds  me  of 
some  one  who  used  to  come  here  a  good  deal  at  one  time 
—  a  Mr.  David  Williams.  I  suppose  he  isn't  any  rela- 
tion? " 

Viz'ie  (while  Frank  Gardner  looks  a  little  astonished)  : 
"  Oh  —  my  cousin.  I  knew  you  knew  him.  He  has  often 
talked  to  me  about  you.  I'll  tell  you  about  David  by  and 
bye,  Frank." 

At  this  interchange  of  Christian  names  Mrs.  Rossiter 
thinks  she  understands  the  situation :  they  are  engaged, 
have  been  since  last  night's  rescue.  But  what  extraor- 
dinary people  the  dear  Professor  does  pick  up !  Have 
they  got  ductless  glands,  she  wonders  ? 

Rossiter  who  has  been  fidgeting  through  this  dialogue 
considers  that  lunch  is  ready,  so  they  proceed  to  the  small 
dining-room,  "  the  breakfast-room."  Mrs.  Rossiter  was 
always  very  proud  of  having  a  small  drawing-room 
(otherwise,  "me  boudwor")  and  a  small  dining-room. 
It  prepared  the  way  for  greater  magnificence  at  big  parties 
and  also  enabled  one  to  be  cosier  with  a  few  friends. 

At  luncheon : 

Mrs.  Rossiter  to  Frank  Gardner,  archly :  "  I  suppose 
you've  come  home  to  be  married?  " 

Frank:  "  Oh  no!  I'm  not  a  bigamist,  I've  got  a  wife 
already  and  four  children,  and  jolly  glad  I  shall  be  to  get 
back  to  'em.     I  can't  stand  much  of  the  English  climate. 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  203 

after  getting  so  used  to  South  African  sunshine.  No.  I 
came  on  a  business  trip  to  England,  leaving  my  old  dear 
out  at  the  farm  near  Salisbury,  with  the  kids  —  we've  got 
a  nice  English  governess  who  helps  her  to  look  after  'em. 
A  year  or  two  hence  I  hope  to  bring  'em  over  to  see  the 
old  country  and  we  may  have  to  put  the  eldest  to  school : 
children  run  wild  so  in  South  Africa.  As  to  Miss  War- 
ren, she's  an  old  friend  of  mine  and  a  very  dear  one.  I 
hadn't  seen  her  for  —  for  —  thirteen  years,  when  the 
sound  of  her  voice  —  She's  got  one  of  those  voices  you 
never  forget  —  the  sound  of  her  voice  came  up  out  of 
that  beastly  crowd  of  gladiators  yesterday,  and  I  found 
her  being  hammered  by  two  policemen.  I  pretty  well  laid 
one  out,  though  I  hadn't  used  my  fists  for  a  matter  of  ten 
years.  Then  I  got  knocked  over  myself,  I  passed  a  night 
in  a  police  cell  feeling  pretty  sick  and  positively  maddened 
at  not  being  able  to  ask  any  questions.  Then  at  last 
morning  came,  I  had  a  wash  and  brush  up  —  the  police 
after  all  aren't  bad  chaps,  and  most  of  'em  seemed  jolly 
well  ashamed  of  last  night's  doin's  —  Then  I  met  Vivie 
in  Court  and  your  husband  too.  He  took  me  on  trust  and 
I'm  awfully  grateful  to  him.  Fve  got  a  dear  old  mater 
down  in  Kent  —  Margate,  don't  you  know  —  my  dad's 
still  alive,  Vivie !  —  and  she'd  have  been  awfully  cut  up  at 
hearing  her  son  had  been  spending  the  night  in  a  police 
cell  and  was  goin'  to  be  fined  for  rioting,  only  fortunately 
the  Home  Secretary  said  we  weren't  to  be  punished. 
.  .  .  But  Professor  Rossiter's  coming  on  the  scene  was  a 
grand  thing.  Besides  being  an  M.P.,  I  needn't  tell  you, 
Mrs.  Rossiter,  he  has  a  world-wide  reputation.  Oh,  we 
read  your  books,  sir,  out  in  South  Africa,  /  can  tell  you 
—  Well  —  er  —  and  here  we  are  —  and  Em  monopolizing 
the  conversation.'' 

Vivie  sat  opposite  her  old  lover,  and  near  to  the  man 
who  loved  her  now  with  such  ill-concealed  passion  that  his 
hand  trembled  for  her  very  proximity.     She  felt  strangely 


204  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

elated,  strangely  gay,  at  times  inclined  to  laugh  as  she 
caught  sight  of  her  bruised  and  puffy  face  in  an  opposite 
mirror,  yet  happy  in  the  knowledge  that  notwithstanding 
the  thirteen  years  of  separation,  her  repeated  rejection  of 
his  early  love,  her  battered  appearance,  Frank  still  felt 
tenderly  towards  her,  still  remembered  the  timbre  of  her 
voice.  Her  mouth  was  too  sore  and  swollen  to  make 
eating  very  pleasant.  She  trifled  with  her  food  but  she 
felt  young  and  full  of  gay  adventure.  Mrs.  Rossiter  a 
little  overwhelmed  w^ith  all  the  information  Gardner  had 
poured  out,  a  little  irritated  also  at  the  dancing  light  in 
Vivie's  eyes,  turned  her  questionings  on  her. 

Mrs.  Rossiter:  "  I  suppose  3^ou  are  the  Miss  Warren 
who  speaks  so  much.  I  often  see  your  name  in  the 
papers,  especially  in  Votes  for  Women  that  the  Professor 
takes  in.  Isn't  it  funny  that  a  man  should  care  so  much 
about  women  getting  the  vote?  I'm  sure  /  don't  want 
it.  I'm  quite  content  to  exercise  my  influence  through 
him,  especially  now  he's  in  Parliament.  But  then  I  have 
my  home  to  look  after,  and  I'm  much  too  busy  to  go  out 
and  about  and  mix  myself  up  in  politics.  I'm  quite  con- 
tent to  leave  all  that  to  the  menfolk." 

Vivie:  "  Quite  so.  In  your  position  no  doubt  I  should 
do  the  same;  but  you  see  I  haven't  any  menfolk.  There 
is  my  mother,  but  she  prefers  to  live  abroad,  and  as  she 
is  comfortably  off  she  can  employ  servants  to  look  after 
her."  (This  hint  of  wealth  a  little  reassured  Mrs.  Ros- 
siter, who  believed  most  Suffragettes  to  be  adventuresses.) 
"  So,  as  I  have  no  ties  I  prefer  to  give  myself  up  to  the 
service  of  women  in  general.  When  they  have  the  vote 
and  other  privileges  of  men,  then  of  course  I  can  attend  to 
my  private  interests  and  pursuits  —  mathematical  calcula- 
tions, insurance  risks " 

Mrs.  Rossiter:  It  is  extraordinary  how  like  your  voice 
is  to  your  cousin's.     If  I  shut  my  eyes  I  could  think  he 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  205 

was  back  again.  Not,"  (she  added  hastily)  "  that  he 
has  not,  no  doubt,  plenty  to  do  abroad.  Do  you  ever  see 
him  now?  Why  does  he  not  marry  and  settle  down? 
One  never  hears  of  him  now  as  a  barrister.  But  then 
he  used  to  feci  his  cases  too  much.  The  last  time  he  was 
here  he  fainted  and  had  to  stay  here  all  night. 

"  And  yet  he  had  won  his  case  and  got  his  —  what  do 
you  say  ?  client  ?  off  —  I  dare  say  you  remember  it  ?  She 
was  my  husband's  cousin  though  we  hardly  liked  to  say 
so  at  the  time :  it  is  so  unpleasant  having  a  murder  in  the 
family.  Fortunately  she  w^as  let  off ;  I  mean,  the  jury  said 
*  not  guilty,'  though  personally  I  —  However  that  is 
neither  here  nor  there,  and  since  then  she's  married 
Colonel  Kesteven  —  Won't  you  have  some  pheasant  ? 
No?  I  remember  your  cousin  used  to  have  a  very  poor 
appetite,  especially  when  one  of  his  cases  was  on.  How 
he  used  —  excuse  my  saying  so  —  how  he  used  to  tire 
poor  Michael  —  Mr.  Rossiter !  Talk,  talk,  talk !  in  the 
evenings,  and  I  knew  the  Professor  had  his  lectures  to 
prepare,  but  hints  were  thrown  away  on  Mr.  David." 

Rossiter  broke  in : 

"  Now  what  would  vou  like  to  do  in  the  afternoon. 
Miss  Warren?  And  Gardner?  You,  by  the  bye,  have 
the  first  claim  on  our  hospitality.  You  have  just  arrived 
from  Africa  and  the  only  thing  we  have  done  for  you,  so 
far,  is  to  drag  you  into  a  disgraceful  row^." 

Frank:  "  Well,  /  should  like  a  glimpse  of  the  Zoo. 
Fm  quite  willing  to  pay  my  shilling  and  give  no  more 
troul)le,  but  if  Vivie  is  going  there  too  we  could  all  walk 
up  together.  After  that  Fm  going  to  revisit  an  old 
acquaintance  of  mine  and  Vivie's,  Praed  the  architect 
—  lives  somewhere  in  Chelsea  if  I  remember  right — " 

Vizne:  "  In  Hans  Place.  I  don't  particularly  want  to 
go  to  the  Zoo.  I  look  so  odd  I  might  over-excite  the 
monkeys.     I  think  I  should  like  to  try  a  restful  visit  to 


2o6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  Royal  Botanic.  Tm  so  fond  of  their  collection  of 
weird  succulent  plants  —  things  that  look  like  stones  and 
suddenly  produce  superb  flowers." 

Mrs.  Rossitcr:  '*  We  belong  to  the  Botanic  as  well 
as  to  the  Zoo.     /  could  take  you  there  after  lunch." 

Rossiter:  "  You  forget,  dearie,  you've  got  to  open 
that  Bazaar  in  Marylebone  Town  Hall  — " 

Linda:  "Oh,  have  I?  To  be  sure.  But  it's  Lady 
Goring  that  does  the  opening,  I'm  much  too  nervous. 
Still  I  promised  to  come.  Would  Miss  Warren  care  to 
come  with  me?  " 

Vivic:  "I  should  have  liked  to  awfully:  I  love  ba- 
zaars; but  just  at  this  moment  I'm  thinking  more  of  those 
succulent  plants  .  .  .  and  my  battered  face." 

Rossiter:  "  I'll  make  up  your  minds  for  you.  We'll 
all  drive  to  the  Zoo  in  Linda's  motor.  Gardner  shall 
look  at  the  animals  and  then  find  his  way  to  Hans  Place. 
I'll  escort  Miss  Warren  to  the  Botanic,  and  then  come 
on  and  pick  you  up,  Linda,  at  the  Town  Hall." 

That  statement  seemed  to  satisfy  every  one,  so  after 
coffee  and  a  glance  round  the  laboratory  and  the  last 
experiments,  they  proceeded  to  the  Zoo,  with  at  least 
an  hour's  daylight  at  their  disposal. 

Rossiter  and  Vivie  were  at  last  alone  within  the 
charmed  circle  of  the  Botanic  Gardens.  They  made 
their  way  slowly  to  the  great  Palm  House  and  thence 
up  twisty  iron  steps  to  a  nook  like  a  tree  refuge  in  New 
Guinea,  among  palm  boles  and  extravagant  aroid  growths. 

"  Now  Michael,"  said  Vivie  —  despite  her  bruised  face 
she  looked  very  elegant  in  her  grey  costume,  grey  hat,  and 
grey  suede  gloves,  and  he  had  to  exercise  great  self-re- 
straint, remember  that  he  was  known  by  sight  to  most 
of  the  gardeners  and  to  the  ubiquitous  secretary,  in  order 
to  refrain  from  crushing  her  to  his  side:  "Now 
Michael :  I  want  a  serious  talk  to  you,  a  talk  which  will 
last  for  another  eighteen  months  —  which  is  about  the 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  207 

time  that  has  elapsed  since  we  had  our  last  —  You're  not 
keeping  the  pact  we  made." 

"  What  was  that  ?  " 

''  Why  you  promised  me  that  your  —  your  —  love  — 
No!  I  won't  misuse  that  word  —  Your  friendship  for 
me  should  not  spoil  your  life,  your  career,  or  make  Linda 
unhappy.  Yet  it  is  doing  all  three.  You've  lived  in  a 
continual  agitation  since  you  got  into  Parliament,  and 
now  you'll  be  involved  in  more  electioneering  in  order  to 
be  returned  once  more.  Meantime  your  science  has  come 
to  a  dead  stop.  And  it's  so  far  more  important  for  us 
than  getting  the  Vote.  All  this  franchise  agitation  is  on 
a  much  lower  plane.  It  amuses  and  interests  me.  It 
keeps  me  from  thinking  too  much  about  you.  Besides,  I 
am  naturally  rather  combative;  I  secretly  enjoy  these 
rough-and  tumbles  with  constituted  authority.  I  also 
really  do  think  it  is  a  beastly  shame,  this  preference  shown 
for  man,  in  most  of  the  careers  and  in  the  franchise. 
But  don't  you  worry  yourself  unduly  about  it.  If  I  really 
thought  that  you  cared  so  much  about  me  that  it  was  turn- 
ing you  away  from  otir  religion,  scientific  research,  I'd 
go  over  to  Brussels  to  my  mother  and  stay  there.  I 
really  would;  and  I  really  will  if  you  don't  stop  follow- 
ing me  about  from  meeting  to  meeting  and  going  mad 
over  the  Suffrage  question  in  the  House.  Is  it  true  that 
you  struck  a  Cabinet  minister  the  other  day  ?     Mr. ?  " 

Rossiter:  "  Yes,  it's  true,  and  he  asked  for  it.     If  I 

am  unreasonable  what  are  they?  ,  ,  mid ? 

Why  have  they  such  a  bitter  feeling  against  your  sex? 
Have  they  had  no  mothers,  no  sweethearts,  no  sisters, 
no  wives?  If  I'd  never  met  you  I  should  still  have  been 
a  Suffragist.  I  think  I  ivas  one,  as  a  boy,  watching  what 
my  mother  suffered  from  my  father,  and  how  he  collared 
all  her  money  —  I  suppose  it  was  before  the  Married 
Woman's  Property  Act  —  and  grudged  her  any  for  her 
dress,  her  little  comforts,  her  books,  or  even  for  proper 


2o8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

medical  advice.  And  to  hear  these  Liberal  Cabinet  Min- 
isters —  Liberal,  mind  you  —  talk  about  women,  often 
with  the  filthy  phrases  of  the  street — Well:  he  got  a 
smack  on  the  jaw  and  decided  to  treat  the  incident  as  a 
trifling  one  .  .  .  his  private  secretary  patched  it  up  some- 
how, but  I  expressed  no  regret.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  darling,  I'll  try  to  do  as  you  wish.  I'll  try 
to  shut  you  out  of  my  thoughts  and  return  to  my  experi- 
ments, when  I'm  not  on  platforms  or  in  the  House.  I 
think  I  shall  get  in  again  —  it's  a  mere  matter  of  money, 
and  thanks  to  Linda  that  isn't  wanting.  I'm  not  going 
to  withdraw  from  politics,  you  bet,  however  disenchanted 
I  may  be.  It's  because  the  decent,  honest,  educated  men 
withdraw  that  legislation  and  administration  are  left  to 
the  case-hardened  rogues  .  .  .  and  the  uneducated  .  .  . 
and  the  cranks.  But  don't  make  things  too  hard  for  me. 
Keep  out  of  prison  .  .  .  keep  off  hunger  strikes  —  If 
you're  going  to  be  man-handled  by  the  police  —  Ah !  why 
wasn't  /  there,  instead  of  in  the  House?  Gardner  had 
all  the  luck.  ...  I  was  glad  to  hear  he  was  married." 

Vivie:  "  Oh  you  needn't  be  jealous  of  poor  Frank. 
And  he'll  soon  be  back  in  South  Africa.  You  needn't 
be  jealous  of  any  one.  I'm  all  yours  —  in  spirit  —  for  all 
time.  Now  we  must  be  going:  it's  getting  dusk  and  we 
should  be  irretrievably  ruined  if  we  were  locked  up  in  this 
dilapidated  old  palm  house.  Besides,  I'm  to  meet  Frank 
at  Praddy's  studio  in  order  to  tell  him  the  history  of  the 
last  thirteen  years." 

As  they  walked  away :  "  You  know,  Michael,  I'm  still 
hoping  we  may  be  friends  without  being  lovers.  I 
wonder  whether  Linda  would  get  to  like  me?  " 

At  Praed's  studio.  Lewis  Maitland  Praed  is  looking 
older.  He  must  be  now  —  November,  19 lo  —  about 
fifty-eight  or  fifty-nine.  But  he  has  still  a  certain  ele- 
gance, the  look  of  a  lesser  Leighton  about  him.  Frank 
has  been  there  already  for  half  an  hour,  and  the  tea- 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  209 

table  has  been,  so  to  speak,  deflowered.  Vivie  accepts  a 
cup,  a  muffin,  and  a  marron  glace.  Then  says,  "  Now, 
dear  Praddy,  summon  your  mistress,  dajis  I'honnete  sens 
du  mot,  and  have  this  tea-table  cleared  so  that  we  can 
have  a  hugely  long  and  uninterrupted  talk.  I  have  got  to 
give  Frank  a  summary  of  all  that  Fve  done  in  the  past 
thirteen  years.  Meanwhile  Frank,  as  your  record,  I  feel 
convinced,  is  so  blameless  and  normal  that  it  could  be 
told  before  any  parlour-maid,  you  start  off  whilst  she  is 
taking  away  the  tea,  fiddling  with  the  stove,  and  prolong- 
ing to  the  uttermost  her  services  to  a  master  who  has 
become  her  slave." 

The  parlour-maid  enters,  and  casts  more  than  one 
searching  glance  at  Vivie's  bruised  features,  but  performs 
her  duties  in  a  workmanlike  manner. 

Frank:  "  My  story?  Oh  well,  it's  a  happy  one  on  the 
whole  —  very  happy.  Soon  as  the  war  was  over,  I  got 
busy  in  Rhodesia  and  pitched  on  a  perfect  site  for  a  stock 
and  fruit  farm.  The  B.  S.  A.  Co.  was  good  to  me  be- 
cause I'd  known  Cecil  Rhodes  and  Dr.  Jim;  and  by  nine- 
teen four  I  was  going  well,  they'd  made  me  a  magistrate, 
and  some  ot  my  mining  shares  had  turned  out  trumps. 
Then  Westlock  came  out  as  Governor  General,  and  Lady 
Enid  had  brought  out  with  her  a  jolly  nice  girl  as  gover- 
ness to  her  children.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  parson  in 
Hertfordshire  near  the  Brinsley  estates.  Well,  I  won't 
say  —  bein'  the  soul  of  truth  —  that  I  fell  in  love  with 
her  —  straight  away  —  because  I  don't  think  I  ever  fell 
deep  in  love  —  straight  away  —  with  any  girl  but  you, 
Vivie.  But  I  did  feel,  as  it  was  hopeless  askin'  you  to 
marry  me,  here  was  the  wife  I  wanted.  She  was  good 
enough  to  accept  me  and  the  Westlocks  were  awfully  kind 
and  made  everything  easy.  Lady  Enid's  a  perfect  brick 
—  and,  by  the  bye,  she's  a  great  Suffragist  too.  Well : 
we  were  married  at  Pretoria  in  1904,  and  now  we've  got 
four  children ;  a  sturdy  young  Frank,  a  golupshous  Vivie 


2IO  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

—  oh,  I  told  Muriel  everything,  she's  the  sort  of  woman 
you  can  —  And  the  other  two  are  called  Bertha  after  my 
mother  and  Charlotte  after  Mrs.  Bernard  Shaw.  I  sent 
you,  Vivie  —  a  newspaper  with  the  announcement  of  my 
marriage  —  Dj'ever  get  it?  " 

Vivie:  "  Never.  But  I  was  undergoing  a  sea-change 
of  my  own,  just  then,  which  I  will  tell  you  all  about 
presently." 

Frank:  "  Well  then.  I  came  back  to  England  on  a 
hurried  visit.  You  remember,  Praddy?  But  you  were 
away  in  Italy  and  I  couldn't  find  Vivie  anywhere.  I 
called  round  at  where  your  office  was  —  Eraser  and 
Warren  - —  where  we  parted  in  1897  —  ^^^d  there  was  no 
more  Eraser  and  Warren.  Nobody  knew  anything  about 
what  had  become  of  you.  P'raps  I  might  have  found  out, 
but  I  got  a  bit  huffy,  thought  you  might  have  written  me 
a  line  about  my  marriage.  I  did  write  to  Miss  Eraser, 
but  the  letter  was  returned  from  the  Dead  Letter  office," 
{Vivie:  "She  married  Colonel  Armstrong.")  "Well, 
there  it  is !  By  some  devilish  lucky  chance  I  had  no  sooner 
got  to  London  from  Southhampton,  day  before  yester- 
day, than  some  one  told  me  all  about  the  expected  row 
between  the  Suffragettes  and  the  police.  Thought  Ed 
go  and  see  for  myself  what  this  meant.  No  idea  before 
how  far  the  thing  had  gone,  or  what  brutes  the  police 
could  be.  Had  a  sort  of  notion,  don't  know  why,  that 
dear  old  Viv  would  be  in  it,  up  to  the  neck.  Got  mixed 
up  in  the  crowd  and  helped  a  woman  or  two  out  of  it. 
Lady  Eeenix  —  they  said  it  was  —  picked  up  some  and 
took  'em  into  her  motor.  And  then  I  heard  a  cry  which 
could  only  be  in  Vivie's  voice  —  dear  old  Viv —  (leans 
forward  with  shining  eyes  to  press  her  hand)  and  .  ,  . 
there  we  are.     How're  the  bruises?  " 

Vivie:  "  Oh,  they  ache  rather,  but  it  is  such  joy  to 
have  such  friends  as  you  and  Praddy  and  Michael  Rossi- 
ter,  that  I  don't  mind  what  I  go  through.  .  .  ," 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  211 

Frank:  "  But  I  say,  Viv,  about  this  Rossiter  man.  He 
seems  awfully  gone  on  you  .  .  .    ?  " 

Vivie  (flushing  in  the  firelight)  :  "  Does  he?  It's  only 
friendship.  I  really  don't  see  them  often  but  he  came  to 
my  assistance  once  at  a  critical  time.  And  now  that 
Praddy's  all-powerful  parlour-maid's  definitely  left  us, 
I  will  tell  you  my  story." 

So  she  does,  between  five  and  half-past  six,  almost 
without  interruption  from  the  spell-bound  Frank  —  who 
says  it  licks  any  novel  he  ever  read,  and  she  ought  to 
turn  it  into  a  novel  —  with  a  happy  ending  —  or  from 
Praed  who  is  at  times  a  little  somnolent.  Then  at  half- 
past  six,  the  practical  Frank  says : 

''  Look  here,  you  chaps,  I  could  go  on  listening  till  mid- 
night, but  what's  the  matter  with  a  bit  of  dinner?  I  dare 
say  Praddy's  parlour-maid  might  turn  sour  if  we  asked 
her  at  a  moment's  notice  to  find  dinner  for  three.  Why 
not  come  out  and  dine  with  me  at  the  Hans  Crescent  Ho- 
tel? Close  by.  Pll  get  a  quiet  table  and  we  can  finish 
our  talk  there.  To-morrow  I  must  go  down  to  Margate 
to  see  the  dear  old  mater,  and  it  may  be  a  week  before  Em 
up  again." 

They  adjourn  to  the  hostelry  mentioned. 

Over  coffee  and  cigarettes,  Vivie  makes  this  appeal  to 
Frank :  "  Now  Frank,  you  know  all  my  story.  Tell  me 
first,  what  really  became  of  the  real  David  Williams,  the 
young  man  you  met  in  the  hospital  and  wrote  to  me 
about?" 

Frank:  "  'Pon  my  life  I  don't  know.  I  never  heard 
one  word  about  him  after  I  got  clear  of  the  hospital  my- 
self. You  know  it  fell  into  Boer  hands  during  that  rising 
in  Cape  Colony.  I  expect  the  *  real '  David  Williams,  as 
you  call  him,  died  from  neglected  wounds  or  typhoid  — 
or  recovered  and  took  to  drink,  or  went  up  country  and 
got  knocked  on  the  head  by  the  natives  for  interfering 
with  their  women  —  Good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish,  I  ex- 


212  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

pect.     What  do  you  want  me  to  do?     I'll  swear  to  any- 
thing in  reason." 

Vivie:  "  I  want  you  to  do  this.  Run  down  one  day 
before  you  go  back  to  Africa,  to  South  Wales,  to  Ponty- 
strad  —  It's  not  far  from  Swansea  —  And  call  at  the 
Vicarage  on  the  pretext  that  you've  come  to  enquire  about 
David  Vavasour  Williams  whom  you  once  knew  in  South 
Africa.  It'll  give  verisimilitude  to  my  stories.  They'll 
probably  say  they  haven't  seen  him  for  ever  so  long,  but 
that  you  can  hear  of  him  through  Professor  Rossiter.  I 
dare  say  it's  a  silly  idea  of  mine,  but  what  I  fear  some- 
times—  is  that  if  the  fact  comes  out  that  /  was  David 
Williams,  some  Vaughan  or  Price  or  other  Williams  may 
call  the  old  man's  will  in  question  and  get  it  put  into 
Chancery,  get  the  money  taken  aw^ay  from  poor  old 
Bridget  Evanwy  and  the  village  hall  which  I've  endowed. 
That's  all.  If  it  wasn't  that  I've  disposed  of  my  sup- 
posed father's  money  in  the  way  I  think  he  would  have 
liked  best,  I  shouldn't  care  a  hang  if  they  found  out  the 
trick  I'd  played  on  the  Benchers.     D'you  see?  " 

Frank:  "  I  see." 

The  next  day  Vivie  wisely  spent  in  bed,  healing  her 
wounds  and  resting  her  limbs  which  after  the  mental  ex- 
citement was  over  ached  horribly.  Honoria  came  round 
and  listened,  applauded,  pitied,  laughed  and  concurred. 

But  she  was  well  enough  on  the  following  Tuesday 
after  Black  Friday  to  attend  another  meeting  of  the 
W.S.P.U.  at  Caxton  Hall,  to  hear  one  more  ambiguous, 
tricky,  many-ways-to-be-interpreted  promise  of  the  then 
Prime  Minister.  Mrs.  Pankhurst  pointing  out  the  vague- 
ness of  these  assurances  announced  her  intention  then  and 
there  of  going  round  to  Downing  Street  to  ask  for  a  more 
definite  wording.  Vivie  and  many  others  followed  this 
dauntless  lady.  Their  visit  was  unexpected,  the  police 
force  was  small  and  the  Suffragettes  had  two  of  the  Cabi- 


THE  SUFFRAGE  MOVEMENT  213 

net  Ministers  at  their  mercy.  They  contented  themselves 
by  shaking,  hustling,  frightening  but  not  otherwise  in- 
juring their  victims  before  the  latter  were  rescued  and 
put  into  taxi-cabs. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MILITANCY 

The  Lilacs, 
Victoria  Road,  S.W. 

December  31,  19 10. 

DEAR  Michael,— 
I'm  so  glad  you  got  returned  all  right  by  your 
University.     I  feared  very  much  your  championship  of 
the  Woman's  Cause  might  have  told  against  you.     But 
these  newer  Universities  are  more  liberal-minded. 

I  am  keeping  my  promise  to  tell  you  of  any  important 
move  I  am  making.  So  this  is  to  inform  you,  in  very 
strict  confidence,  of  my  latest  dodge.  For  the  effective 
organization  of  my  particular  branch  of  the  W.S.P.U. 
activities,  I  must  have  an  office.  "  The  Lilacs  "  is  far 
too  small,  and  besides  I  shrink  from  having  my  little 
home  raided  or  too  much  visited  even  by  confederates. 
I  learned  the  other  day  that  the  old  Eraser  and  Warren 
offices  on  the  top  floor  of  88-90  Chancery  Lane  were 
vacant.  The  Midland  Insurance  Co.  that  occupied 
nearly  all  the  building  has  cleared  out  and  the  block  is 
to  be  given  over  to  a  multitude  of  small  undertakings. 
Well :  I  secured  our  old  rooms !  Simply  splendid,  with 
the  two  safes  that  Honoria,  untold  ages  ago,  fitted  into 
the  walls,  and  hid  so  cleverly  tha;t  if  there  is  no  treachery 
it  would  be  hard  for  the  police  to  find  them  and  raid 
them.  The  Midland  Insurance  Co.  did  not  behave  well 
to  Eraser  and  Warren,  so  Beryl  Storrington,  when  she 
was  clearing  out  said  nothing  about  the  safes,  which  were 

214 


MILITANCY  215 

not  noticed  by  the  Company.  Honoria  kept  the  keys 
and  now  hands  them  over  to  me. 

The  W.S.P.U.  has  taken  —  also  mider  an  alias  —  other 
offices  on  the  same  side  of  the  way,  at  No.  94,  top 
storey.  We  find  we  can,  by  using  the  fire  escape,  pass 
over  the  intervening  roofs  and  reach  the  parapet  out- 
side the  "  partners'  room "  at  the  88-90  building.  I 
shall  once  again  make  use  of  the  little  room  next  the 
partners'  office  as  a  bedroom  or  rather,  "  tiring  "  room, 
where  I  can  if  necessary  effect  changes  of  costume.  I 
have  taken  the  new  offices  in  the  name  of  Mr.  Michaelis  ^ 
for  a  special  reason;  and  with  some  modifications  of 
David's  costume  I  have  appeared  in  person  to  assume  pos- 
session of  them.  I  generally  enter  No.  94  dressed  as 
Vivie  Warren.  All  this  may  sound  very  silly  to  you, 
like  playing  at  conspiracy.  But  these  precautions  seem 
to  be  necessary.  The  Government  is  beginning  to  take 
Suffragism  seriously,  and  a  whole  department  at  New 
Scotland  Yard  has  been  organized  to  cope  with  our  ac- 
tivities. 

One  reason  I  have  in  writing  this  letter  —  a  letter 
I  hope  you  will  burn  after  you  have  read  and  noted  its 
contents  —  is  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  for  a  while  the  serv- 
ices of  Bertie  Adams  as  clerk.  Of  course  I  shall  insist 
on  paying  his  salary  whilst  I  employ  him,  and  indemni- 
fying him  for  anything  he  may  suffer  in  my  service  — 
that  of  the  W.S.P.U.     I  am  fairly  well  oft"  for  money 

1  Michaelis,  I  believe,  was  a  Greek  merchant  dealing  with  sponges, 
emery  powder,  coral,  and  other  products  of  the  Mediterranean 
shores  whose  acquaintance  Vivie  'had  originally  made  when  inter- 
ested in  the  shares  of  that  Levantine  house,  Charles  Davis  and  Co. 
Of  Ionian  birth  he  had  become  a  naturalized  British  subject,  but 
having  grown  wealthy  had  decided  to  transfer  himself  to  Athens 
and  enter  political  life.  He  had  consented  amusedly  to  Vivie's 
adoption  of  his  name  for  her  new  tenancy  and  had  given  her  an  old 
passport,  which  you  could  do  in  the  days  that  knew  not  Dora  —  she 
resembling  him  somewhat  in  appearance.  He  was  aware  of  her  Suf- 
fragist activities  and  guessed  she  might  want  it  occasionally  for 
eluding  the  police  on  trips  abroad. —  H.  H.  J. 


2i6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

now.  Besides  the  funds  the  W.S.P.U.  places  at  my  dis- 
posal, I  have  the  interest  on  mother's  Ten  Thousand 
pounds,  and  she  would  give  me  more  if  I  asked  for  it. 
She  has  quite  taken  to  the  idea  of  spending  her  ill-got- 
ten gains  on  the  Enfranchisement  of  Women!  (I  am 
going  over  to  see  her  for  a  week  or  so,  when  it  is  not 
quite  so  cold.) 

What  business  am  I  going  specially  to  undertake  in 
Mr.  Michaelis's  office  on  the  top  storey  of  88-90?  I 
will  tell  you.  Scotland  Yard  is  getting  busy  about  us, 
the  Suffragists,  trying  to  find  out  all  it  can  that  is  detri- 
mental to  our  personal  characters,  our  upbringing,  our 
progeniture,  our  businesses  and  our  relations ;  whether 
we  had  a  forger  in  the  family,  whether  I  am  the  daughter 
of  the  "  notorious  "  Mrs.  Warren,  whether  Mrs.  Canon 
Burstall  is  really  my  aunt  and  whether  she  couldn't  be 
brought  to  use  her  private  influence  on  me  to  keep  me 
quiet,  in  case  it  came  out  that  Kate  Warren  was  her 
sister,  and  that  she  led  Kate  into  that  way  of  life  wherein 
she  earned  her  shameful  livelihood.  I  have  had  one  or 
two  covert  hints  from  Aunt  Liz  promising  to  open  up 
relations  if  only  I'll  behave  myself!  Scotland  Yard  has 
already  had  the  sorry  triumph  of  causing  one  or  two  of 
our  most  prominent  workers  to  retire  from  the  ranks 
because  they  were  not  propeily  married  or  had  been  mar- 
ried after  the  eldest  child  was  born;  or  had  once  "been 
in  trouble,"  over  some  peccadillo,  or  had  had  a  son  or  a 
sister  who  though  now  upright  and  prosperous  had  once 
been  in  the  clutches  of  the  law. 

Now  my  idea  is  to  turn  the  tables  on  all  this.  I  my- 
self am  impeccable  in  a  real  court  of  equity.  My  avatar 
as  David  Williams  was  by  way  of  being  a  superb  ad- 
venture. I  only  retired  from  the  harmless  imposture 
lest  I  might  compromise  you,  and  you  are  so  far  gone  in 
politics  now  that  the  revelation  —  if  it  came  about  —  that 
you  were  deceived  by  me  and  by  my  "  father  " —  would 


MILITANCY  217 

do  you  no  harm.  For  a  ntim^)er  of  reasons  I  know 
pretty  well  that  the  Benchers  would  not  make  themselves 
ridiculous  by  having  the  story  of  my  successful  entry 
into  their  citadel  told  in  open  court.  I  have  in  fact, 
through  a  devious  channel,  received  the  assurance  that  if 
I  do  not  resume  this  character  (of  D.  V.  W.)  nothing 
more  will  be  said.  What,  then,  have  I  to  fear?  My 
mother  s'cst  bien  rangce.  She  leads  a  life  of  the  most 
respectable.  If  they  challenge  her,  she  can  counter  with 
some  of  the  most  piquant  scandals  of  the  last  thirty 
years. 

My  own  careful  study  of  criminology  and  the  assid- 
uous searchings  of  Albert  Adams  in  the  same  direction ; 
my  mother's  anecdotes  of  the  lives  of  statesmen,  police- 
magistrates,  prosecuting  counsel,  judges,  press-editors  — 
many  of  whom  have  enjoyed  her  hospitality  abroad  — 
have  given  me  numerous  hints  in  what  direction  to  pur- 
sue my  researches.  Consequently  the  office  of  Mr. 
Michaelis  will  be  the  Criminal  Investigation  Department 
of  the  W.S.P.U.  I  feel  instinctively  I  am  touching  pitch 
and  that  you  will  disapprove  .  .  .  but  if  we  are  to 
fight  with  clean  hands,  que  Messieurs  les  Assassins  com- 
mencent!  If  Scotland  Yards  drops  slander  and  in- 
famous suggestions  as  a  weapon  we  will  let  our  poisoned 
arrows  rust  in  the  armoury. 

How  beastly  all  this  is!  Why  do  they  drive  us  to 
these  extremes?  I  know  already  enough  to  blast  the 
characters  of  several  among  our  public  men.  Yet  I  know 
in  so  doing  I  should  wreck  the  life-happiness  of  faith- 
ful wives,  believing  sisters  or  daughters,  or  bright-faced 
children.  Perhaps  I  won't,  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch. 
But  somehow,  I  think,  if  they  guess  I  have  this  knowledge 
in  my  possession,  they  will  leave  David  Williams  and 
Kate  Warren  alone. 

Sometimes,  d'you  know.  I  wake  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  at  the  Lilacs  or  in  my  reconstituted  bedroom  at  88- 


2i8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

90,  and  wish  I  were  quit  of  all  this  Suffrage  business,  all 
this  vain  struggle  against  predominant  man  —  and  away 
with  you  on  a  Pacific  Island.  Then  I  realize  that  we 
should  have  large  cockroaches  and  innumerable  sand 
fleas  in  our  new  home,  that  we  should  have  broken  Linda's 
heart,  have  set  back  the  Suffrage  cause  as  much  as  Par- 
nell's  adultery  postponed  Home  Rule;  and  above  all  that 
I  am  alread}^  thirty-five  and  shall  soon  be  thirty-six  and 
that  it  wouldn't  be  very  long  before  you  in  comfort-loving 
middle  age  sighed  for  the  well-ordered  life  of  No.  i, 
Park  Crescent,  Portland  Place! 

On  the  whole,  I  think  the  most  rational  line  I  can  take 
is  to  continue  resolutely  this  struggle  for  the  Vote.  With 
the  Vote  must  come  the  opening  of  Parliament  to  women. 
I'm  not  too  old  to  aspire  to  be  some  day  Secretary  of 
State  for  Home  Affairs.  Because  the  General  Post  Office 
has  already  become  interested  in  my  correspondence,  and 
because  this  is  really  a  "  pivotal ''  letter  I  am  not  trusting 
it  to  the  post  but  am  calling  with  it  at  No.  i  and  handing 
it  personally  to  your  butler.  I  look  to  you  to  destroy 
it  when  you  have  read  its  contents  —  if  you  go  to  that 
length. 

Yours, 

ViVIE. 

Rossiter  read  this  letter  an  hour  or  so  after  it  had 
been  delivered,  frowned  a  good  deal,  made  notes  in  one 
of  his  memorandum  books ;  then  tore  the  sheets  of  type- 
writing into  four  and  placed  them  on  the  fire.  Having 
satisfied  himself  that  the  flames  had  caught  them,  he 
went  up  with  a  sullen  face  to  dress  for  dinner:  Linda 
was  giving  a  New  Year's  Eve  dinner  to  friends  and  re- 
lations and  he  had  to  play  the  part  of  host  with  assumed 
heartiness. 

In  the  perversity  of  fate,  one  piece  of  the  typewritten 
letter  escaped  the  burning  except  along  the  edge.     A  puff 


MILITANCY  219 

of  air  from  the  chimney  or  the  opened  door,  as  Linda 
entered  the  room,  Hfted  it  off  the  cinders  and  deposited  it 
on  the  hearth.  Linda  had  dressed  early  for  the  party, 
had  felt  a  little  hurt  at  the  locked  door  of  Michael's  dress- 
ing-room, and  had  come  with  some  vague  intention  into 
his  study,  to  see  perhaps  if  the  fire  was  burning  brightly : 
because  to  avoid  unnecessary  journies  upstairs  they 
would  receive  their  guests  to-night  in  the  study  and  thence 
pass  to  the  dining-room.  But  the  fire  had  gone  sulky,  as 
fires  do  sometimes  even  with  well-behaved  chimneys  and 
first-class  coal.  She  noted  the  charred  portion  of  paper 
lying  untidily  on  the  hearth,  with  typewriting  on  its  upper 
surface.  Picking  it  up  she  read  inside  the  scorched 
margin : 

ria  kept  the  kej's  and  now  them  over  to  me. 

W.S.P.U.  has  taken  —  also  under  an  alias  —  other  of 
same  side  of  the  way,  at  No.  94,  top  storey.     We 
using  the  fire-escape,   pass  over  the  intervening  r 
reach  the  parapet  outside  the  "  partners'  room "  at  the 
ding.  I  shall  once  again  make  use  of  the  little  room 

tners'  office  as  a  bedroom  or  rather  "  tiring "  room,  w 
if  necessary  effect  changes  of  costume.     I  have  tak 
ces  in  the  name  of  Mr.  Michaelis  for  a  special  reas 
ome  modifications  of  David's  costume  I  have  appeared  in  p 
ssume  possession  of  them.     I  generally  enter  No.  94  dressed  a 
Warren.     All  this  may  sound  very  silly  to  you,  like  pla 

"Warren!"  That  name  stood  out  clear.  Did  it 
mean  the  suffragette,  Vivien  Warren,  who  had  some- 
times been  here,  and  in  whose  adventures  her  husband 
seemed  so  unbecomingly  interested?  One  of  the  great 
ladies  who  were  Anti-Suffragists  and  had  already  de- 
coyed Mrs.  Rossiter  within  their  drawing-rooms  had  re- 
ferred with  great  disapproval  to  Miss  Warren  as  the 
daughter  of  a  most  notorious  woman  whom  their  hus- 
bands wouldn't  hear  mentioned  because  of  her  shocking 
past.  And  David,  David  of  course  must  be  that  tiresome 
David  Williams,  supposed  to  be  a  cousin  of  Vivien  War- 
ren, but  really  seeming  in  these  allusions  to  be  a  disguise 


220  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

in  which  this  bold  female  deceived  people.  And  "  Mr. 
Michaelis?"  Could  that  be  her  own  Michael?  The 
shameless  baggage!  She  choked  at  the  thought.  Was 
it  a  conspiracy  into  which  they  were  luring  her  husband, 
already  rather  compromised  as  a  man  of  science  by  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  Suffrage  cause?  People  used  to 
speak  of  Michael  almost  with  awe,  he  was  so  clever,  he 
made  such  wonderful  discoveries.  Now,  since  he  had 
become  a  politician  he  had  many  enemies,  and  several 
ladies  of  high  title  referred  to  him  contemptuously  even 
in  her  hearing  and  cut  Jier  wdthout  compunction,  though 
she  had  Ten  thousand  a  year.  She  felt  all  the  same  a 
profound  conviction  that  Michael  was  the  most  honour- 
able of  men.  Yet  why  all  this  mystery?  The  W.S.P. 
U.  ?  Those  letters  stood  for  some  more  than  usually 
malignant  Suffrage  Society.  She  had  seen  the  letters 
often  in  "  Votes  for  Women."  .  .  . 

Her  musings  here  were  stayed  by  the  sound  of  her  hus- 
band's steps  in  the  passage.  Hastily  she  thrust  the  half 
sheet  of  charred  paper  into  her  corsage  and  brushed  off 
the  fragments  of  the  burnt  edges  from  her  laces;  then 
turned  and  affected  to  be  tidying  the  writing  table  as 
Michael  came  in. 

Rossiter:  "Linda!  Surely  not  putting  my  papers  in 
order  —  or  rather  disorder  ?  I  thought  you  were  far 
too  intimate  with  my  likes  and  dislikes  to  do  that!  .  .  . 
Why,  what's  the  matter?  " 

Linda:  "  Oh  nothing.  I  was  only  seeing  if  they  had 
made  up  your  fire.     I  —  I  —  haven't  touched  anything." 

(Rossiter  looked  anxiously  at  the  grate,  but  was  re- 
lieved to  see  nothing  but  burnt,  shrivelled  squares  of 
paper.  He  poked  the  fire  fiercely  and  at  any  rate  de- 
molished the  remains  of  Vivie's  letter.) 

Rossiter:  "Yes:  it  isn't  very  cheerful.  They  must 
brighten  it  while  we  are  at  dinner;  though  as  we  shall 
go  to  the  drawing-room  afterwards   we   shan't  need  a 


MILITANCY  221 

huge  fire  here.  There !  It  looks  better  after  that  poke. 
I  threw  some  papers  on  it  to  start  a  flame  just  before  I 
went  up  to  dress.  .  .  .  Why  dearie!  What  cold  hands 
and  what  flushed  cheeks !".... 

Linda:  "Oh  Michael!  You'll  always  love  me,  won't 
you?  I  —  I  know  I'm  not  clever,  not  half  clever  enough 
for  you.  But  I  do  trv  to  help  you  all  I  can.  I  —  I 
"     (Sobs.) 

Rossifer  (really  distressed):  "Of  course  I  love  you! 
What  silly  notion  have  you  got  into  your  head?  "  (He 
asks  himself  anxiously  "  Surely  all  that  letter  was  burnt 
before  she  came  in?")  "Come!  Pull  yourself  to- 
gether.    Be  worthy  of  that  dress.     It  is  such  a  beauty." 

Linda:  "  I  thought  you'd  like  it.  I  remembered  your 
saying  that  blue  always  became  me."  (Dabs  at  her 
eyes  with  a  small  lace  handkerchief.) 

Loud  double  knocks  begin  to  sound.  Dinner  guests 
are  soon  announced.  Linda  and  Michael  receive  them 
heartily.  Rossiter  —  as  many  a  public  man  does  and 
has  to  do  —  shoves  his  vain  regrets,  remorse,  anxiety, 
weary  longing  for  the  unattainable  —  somewhere  to  the 
back  of  his  brain,  where  these  feelings  will  not  revive  till 
he  lies  awake  at  three  in  the  morning;  and  prepares  to 
entertain  half-a-dozen  hearty  men  and  buxom  women 
who  are  easily  impressed  by  a  little  spoon-fed  science. 
Linda  is  soon  distracted  from  the  scrap  of  paper  in  her 
bosom  and  gives  all  her  attention  to  her  cousins  and 
grown-up  school  friends  from  Bradford  and  Northaller- 
ton who  are  delighted  to  see  the  New  Year  in  amid  the 
gaieties  of  London. 

But  before  she  rings  for  her  maid  and  undresses  that 
night,  she  locks  the  burnt  fragment  in  a  secret  drawer  of 
her  desk. 

The  Ministry  which  was  returned  to  power  in  Decem- 
ber, 1910,  had  to  plan  during  the  first  half  of  igii  to 


222  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

keep  the  Suffragists  becalmed  with  promises  and  prevent 
their  making  any  pubhc  protest  which  might  mar  the 
Coronation  festivities.  So  various  Conciliation  Bills 
were  allowed  to  be  read  to  the  House  of  Commons  and  to 
reach  Second  readings  at  which  they  were  passed  with 
huge  majorities.  Then  they  came  to  nothingness  by  being 
referred  to  a  Committee  of  the  whole  House.  Still  a 
hope  of  some  solution  was  dangled  before  the  oft-deluded 
women,  who  could  hardly  believe  that  British  Ministers 
of  State  would  be  such  breakers  of  promises  and  tellers 
of  falsehoods.  In  November,  191 1,  there  being  no  reason 
for  further  dissembling,  the  Government  made  the  an- 
nouncement that  it  was  contemplating  a  Manhood  Suf- 
frage Bill,  which  would  override  altogether  the  petty 
question  as  to  whether  a  proportion  of  women  should  or 
should  not  enjoy  the  franchise.  This  new  electoral 
measure  was  to  be  designed  for  men  only,  but  —  the  Gov- 
ernment opined  —  it  might  be  susceptible  of  amendment 
so  as  to  admit  women  likewise. 

[Probably  the  Government  had  satisfied  itself  before- 
hand that,  acting  on  some  unwritten  code  of  Parliamen- 
tary procedure,  the  Speaker  would  rule  out  such  an 
amendment  as  unconstitutional.  At  any  rate,  this  is 
what  he  did  in  1913.] 

The  wrath  of  the  oft-deluded  women  flamed  out  with 
immediate  resentment  when  the  purport  of  this  trick  was 
discerned.  Led  by  Mrs.  Pethick  Lawrence  a  band  of 
more  than  a  thousand  women  and  men  (and  some  of  the 
presumed  men  were,  like  Vivie,  women  in  men's  clothes, 
as  it  enabled  them  to  move  about  with  more  agility  and 
also  to  escape  identification)  entered  Whitehall  and  Par- 
liament Street  armed  with  hammers  and  stones.  They 
broke  all  the  windows  they  could  in  the  fronts  of  the 
Government  offices  and  at  the  residences  of  Ministers  of 
State.  Vivie  found  herself  shadowed  everywhere  by 
Bertie  Adams  though  she  had  given  him  no  orders  to  join 


MILITANCY  222, 

the  crowd,  indeed  had  begged  him  to  mind  his  own  busi- 
ness and  go  home.  "  This  is  my  business,"  he  had  said 
curtly,  and  for  once  masterfully,  and  she  gave  way. 
Though  Vivie  for  her  own  reasons  carried  no  hammer  or 
stone  and  as  one  of  the  principal  organizers  of  the  mili- 
tant movement  had  been  requested  by  the  inner  Council 
of  the  W.S.P.U.  to  keep  out  of  prison  as  long  as  possible, 
she  could  not  help  cheering  on  the  boldest  and  bravest 
in  the  mild  violence  of  their  protest.  To  the  angry 
police  she  seemed  merely  an  impertinent  young  man, 
hardly  worth  arresting  when  they  could  barely  master 
the  two  hundred  and  twenty-three  arch  offenders  with 
glass-breaking  weapons  in  their  hands.  So  a  constable 
contented  himself  with  marching  on  her  feet  with  all  his 
weight  and  thrusting  his  elbows  violently  into  her  breast. 

She  well-nigh  fainted  with  the  pain ;  in  fact  would 
have  fallen  in  the  crowd  but  for  the  interposition  of 
Adams  who  carried  her  out  of  it  to  the  corner  of  Par- 
liament Street,  where  he  pounced  on  one  of  the  many 
taxis  that  crawled  about  the  outskirts  of  the  shouting, 
swaying  crowd,  sure  of  a  fare  from  either  police  or 
escaping  Suffragists.  Feeling  certain  that  some  police- 
man had  not  left  the  disguised  Vivie  entirely  unobserved 
—  indeed  Bertie  had  half  thought  he  caught  the  words 
above  the  din :  "  That's  David  Williams,  that  is,"  he 
told  the  taxi  man  to  drive  along  the  Embankment  to  the 
Temple.  By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  nearest  access 
on  that  side  of  Fountain  Court,  Vivie  was  sufficiently  re- 
covered from  her  semi-swoon  to  get  out,  and  leaning 
heavily  on  Bertie's  arm,  limp  slowly  through  the  intri- 
cacies of  the  Temple  and  out  into  Fleet  Street  by  Ser- 
geant's Inn.  Then  with  fresh  efforts  and  further  halts 
they  made  their  way  to  94,  Chancery  Lane. 

Some  one  was  sitting  up  here  with  one  electric  light 
on,  ready  for  any  development  connected  with  W.S.P.U. 
work  that  night.     To  her  —  fortunately  it  was  a  woman 


224  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

—  Bertie  handed  over  his  stricken  chief,  and  then  made 
his  way  home  to  his  httle  house  in  Marylebone  and  a 
questioning  and  not  too  satisfied  wife.  The  Suffragette 
in  charge  of  the  top  storey  at  94  knew  something, 
fortunately,  of  first  aid,  was  deft  of  hands  and  full 
of  sympathy.  Vivie's  —  or  Mr.  Michaelis's  — lace-up 
boots  were  carefully  removed  and  the  poor  crushed  and 
bleeding  toes  washed  with  warm  water.  The  collar  was 
taken  off  and  the  shirt  unbuttoned  revealing  a  terrible 
bruise  on  the  sternum  where  the  policeman's  elbow  had 
struck  her  —  better  however  there,  though  it  had  nearly 
broken  the  breastbone,  than  on  either  side,  as  such  a 
blow  might  have  given  rise  to  cancer.  As  it  was,  Vivie 
when  she  coughed  spat  blood. 

A  cup  of  hot  bovril  and  an  hour's  rest  on  a  long  chair 
and  she  was  ready,  supremely  anxious  indeed,  to  try  the 
last  adventure :  an  excursion  across  the  roofs  and  up  and 
down  fire-escapes  on  to  the  parapet  of  her  own  especial 
dwelling,  the  old  offices  of  Eraser  and  Warren  at  No. 
88-90.  The  great  window  of  the  partners'  room  opened 
to  her  manipulations  —  it  had  been  carefully  left  un- 
bolted before  her  departure  for  Caxton  Hall ;  and  aided 
cautiously  and  cleverly  by  her  suffragette  helper,  Vivie  at 
last  found  herself  —  or  Mr.  Michaelis  did  —  in  the  snug 
little  bedroom  that  knew  her  chiefly  in  her  male  form. 

Here  she  was  destined  to  lie  up  for  several  weeks  till 
the  feet  and  the  chest  were  healed  and  sound  again. 
Hither  by  the  normal  entrance  came  a  woman  suffra- 
gette surgeon  to  heal,  and  Vivie's  woman  clerk  to  act  as 
secretary;  whilst  Adams  typed  away  in  the  outer  office 
on  Mr.  Michaelis's  business  or  went  on  long  and  mysteri- 
ous errands.  Hither  also  came  the  little  maid  from  the 
Lilacs,  bringing  needed  changes  of  clothes,  letters,  and 
messages  from  Honoria.  A  stout  young  man  with  a 
fresh  colour  went  up  in  the  lift  at  No.  94  to  the  flat  or 
office  of  "  Algernon  Mainwaring,"  and  then  skipped  along 


MILITANCY  225 

the  winding  way  between  the  chimney  stacks  and  up  and 
down  short  iron  ladders  till  he  too  reached  the  parapet, 
entered  through  the  opened  casement,  and  revealed  him- 
self as  a  great  W.S.P.U.  leader,  costumed  like  Vivie  as 
a  male,  but  in  reality  a  buxom  young  woman  only  wait- 
ing for  the  Vote  to  be  won  to  espouse  her  young  man  — 
a  shop  stew^ard  —  and  begin  a  large  family  of  children. 
From  this  leader,  Vivie  received  humbly  the  strictest 
injunctions  to  engage  in  no  more  disabling  work  for  the 
present,  to  keep  out  of  police  clutches  and  the  risk  of  go- 
ing to  prison  or  of  attracting  too  much  police  attention  at 
88-90  Chancery  Lane.  "  You  are  our  brain-centre  at 
present.  Our  offices  for  show  and  for  raiding  by  the 
police  have  been  at  Clifford's  Inn  and  are  now  in  Lin- 
coln's Inn.  But  the  really  precious  information  we 
possess  is  .  .  .  well,  you  know  where  it  is :  walls  may 
have  ears  .  .  .  your  time  for  public  testimony  hasn't 
come  yet  .  .  .  we'll  let  you  know  fast  enough  when  it 
has  and  you  won't  flinch,  I'm  quite  sure.  .  .  ." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  though  Vivie's  intelligence  and 
inventiveness,  her  knowledge  of  criminal  law,  of  lawyers 
and  of  city  business,  her  wide  education,  her  command  of 
French  (improved  by  the  frequent  trips  to  Brussels  — 
where  indeed  she  deposited  securely  in  her  mother's  keep- 
ing some  of  the  funds  and  the  more  remarkable  docu- 
ments of  the  Suffrage  cause)  and  her  possession  of 
monetary  supplies  were  not  to  be  despised :  as  a  figure- 
head, she  was  of  doubtful  value.  There  was  always  that 
mother  in  the  background.  If  Vivie  was  in  court  for  a 
suffrage  offence  of  a  grave  character  the  prosecuting 
Counsel  would  be  sure  to  rake  up  the  "  notorious  Mrs. 
Warren  "  and  drag  in  the  White  Slave  Traffic,  to  be- 
wilder a  jury  and  throw  discredit  on  the  militant  side  of 
the  Suffrage  cause.  Of  course  if  the  true  story  of  Vivie 
were  fully  known,  she  would  rise  triumphant  from  such 
a    recital.  ,  .  .     Still  .  .  .  throw    plenty    of    mud    and 


226  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

some  of  it  will  stick.  .  .  .  And  what  zvas  her  full,  true 
story?  Even  in  the  pure  passion  of  the  fight  for  liberty 
among  these  young  and  middle-aged  women,  the  tongue 
of  scandal  occasionally  wagged  in  moments  of  lassitude, 
discouragement,  undeception.  At  such  times  some 
weaker  sister  with  a  vulgar  mind,  or  a  mind  with  vulgar 
streaks  in  it,  might  hint  at  the  great  interest  taken  in 
Vivie  by  a  distinguished  man  of  science  who  had  become 
an  M.P.  and  a  raging  suffragist.  Or  indecorum  would 
be  hinted  in  the  relations  between  this  enigmatic  woman, 
so  prone  seemingly  to  don  male  costume,  and  the  burly 
clerk  who  attended  her  so  faithfully  and  had  brought  her 
home  on  the  night  of  Mrs.  Pethick  Lawrence's  spirited 
raid. 

So  much  so,  that  Vivie  with  a  sigh,  as  soon  as  she  at- 
tained convalescence  was  fain  to  send  for  Bertie  and  tell 
him  with  unansv^^erable  decision  that  he  must  return  to 
his  work  with  Rossiter  and  thither  she  would  send  from 
time  to  time  special  instructions  if  he  could  help  her  busi- 
ness in  any  way. 

This  was  done  in  January,  1912.  Vivie's  feet  were 
now  healed  and  the  woman  surgeon  was  satisfied  that 
she  could  walk  on  them  without  displacing  the  reset  bones. 
The  slight  fracture  in  the  breastbone  had  repaired  itself 
by  one  of  Nature's  magic  processes.  So  one  day  our 
battered  heroine  doffed  the  invalid  garments  of  Michaelis 
and  donned  those  of  any  well-dressed  woman  of  191 2, 
including  a  thick  veil.  Thus  attired  she  passed  from  the 
parapet  to  the  fire-escape  (recalling  the  agony  these  gym- 
nastics had  caused  her  the  previous  November ),  and  from 
the  fire-escape  to  the  roof  of  No.  92  (continuous  with  the 
roof  of  94),  and  past  the  chimney  stacks,  into  the 
top  storey  of  94,  and  so  on  down  to  the  street,  where  a 
taxi  was  waiting  to  convey  her  to  the  Lilacs. 

(The  W.S.P.U.,  by  the  bye.  to  bluff  Scotland  Yard 
had  added  to  the  name  of  "  Algernon  Mainwaring,  5th 


MILITANCY  227 

Floor,"  the  qualification  of  "  Hygienic  Corset-maker," 
as  an  explanation  —  possibly  —  of  why  so  many  women 
found  their  way  to  the  top  storey  of  No.  94.) 

Arrived  at  the  Lilacs,  Vivie  took  up  for  a  brief  spell 
the  life  of  an  ordinary  young  woman  of  the  well-to-do 
middle  class,  seriously  interested  in  the  suffrage  question 
but  non-militant.  She  attended  several  of  Honoria's 
or  Mrs.  Fawcett's  suffrage  parties  or  public  meetings 
and  occasionally  spoke  and  spoke  well.  She  also  w^ent 
over  to  Brussels  twice  in  19 12  to  keep  in  touch  with 
her  mother.  Mrs.  Warren  had  had  one  or  two  slight 
warnings  that  a  life  of  pleasure  saps  the  strongest  con- 
stitution.^ She  lived  now  mainly  at  her  farm,  the  Villa 
Beau-sejour,  and  only  occasionally  occupied  her  appartc- 
ment  in  the  Rue  Royale.  She  must  have  been  about 
fifty-nine  in  the  spring  of  1912,  and  was  beginning  to 
"  soigner  son  salut,"  that  is  to  say  to  take  stock  of  her 
past  life,  apologize  for  it  to  herself  and  see  how  she  could 
atone  reasonably  for  what  she  had  done  wrong.  A 
decade  or  two  earlier  she  would  have  turned  to  religion, 
inevitably  to  that  most  attractive  and  logical  form,  the 
religion  expounded  by  the  Holy  Roman  Catholic  and 
Apostolic  Church.  She  would  have  confessed  her 
past,  slightly  or  very  considerably  gacce,  to  some  indul- 
gent confessor,  have  been  pardoned,  and  have  presented 
a  handsome  sum  to  an  ecclesiastical  charity  or  work  of 
piety.  But  she  had  survived  into  a  skeptical  age  and 
she  had  conceived  an  immense  respect  for  her  clever 
daughter.  Vivie  should  be  her  spiritual  director ;  and 
Vivie's  idea  put  before  her  at  their  reconciliation  three 
years  previously  had  seemed  the  most  practical  way  of 
making  amends  to  Woman  for  having  made  money  in 
the  past  out  of  the  economic  and  physiological  weakness 
of  women.  She  had  fined  herself  Ten  Thousand  pounds 
then;  and  out  of  her  remaining  capital  of  Fifty  or  Sixty 

1  Or  so  the  observers  say  who  haven't  had  a  life  of  pleasure. 


228  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

thousand  (all  willed  with  what  else  she  possessed  to  her 
daughter)  she  would  pay  over  more  if  Vivie  demanded 
it  as  further  reparation.  Still,  she  found  the  frequenta- 
tion  of  churches  soothing  and  gave  much  and  often  to  the 
mildly  beseeching  Little  Sisters  of  the  Poor  when  they 
made  their  rounds  in  town  or  suburbs. 

"What  do  you  think  about  Religion,  Viv  old  girl?" 
she  said  one  day  in  the  Eastertide  of  1912,  when  Vivie 
was  spending  a  delicious  fortnight  at  Villa  Beau-sejour. 

"  Personally,"  said  Vivie,  "  I  hate  all  religions,  so  far 
as  I  have  had  time  to  study  them.  They  bind  up  with 
undisputed  ethics  more  or  less  preposterous  theories  con- 
cerning life  and  death,  the  properties  of  matter,  man, 
God,  the  universe,  the  laws  of  nature,  the  food  we  should 
eat,  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  the  quality  of  the  weekly 
day  of  rest.  Gradually  they  push  indisputable  ethics  on 
one  side  and  are  ready  to  apply  torture,  death,  or  social 
ostracism  to  the  support  of  these  preposterous  theories 
and  explanations  of  God  and  Man.  Such  theories  " — 
went  on  Vivie,  though  her  mother's  attention  had 
wandered  to  some  escaped  poultry  that  were  scratching 
disastrously  in  seed  beds  — "  Such  theories  and  explana- 
tions, mark  you  —  do  listen,  mother,  since  you  asked  the 
question.  .  .  ." 

"  I'm  listenin',  dearie,  but  you  talk  like  a  book  and  I 
don't  know  what  some  of  your  words  mean  —  What's 
ethics  ?  " 

"  Well  '  ethics  '  means  er  —  er  — '  morality  ' ;  it  comes 
from  a  Greek  word  meaning  '  character.'  .  .  ." 

Mrs.  Warren:     "  You  talk  like  a  book " 

Vivie:  "  I  do  sometimes,  when  I  remember  something 
I've  read.  But  now  I've  lost  my  thread.  .  ,  .  What 
I  meant  to  finish  up  with  was  something  like  this  '  Such 
theories  and  explanations  were  formulated  several  hun- 
dred, or  more  than  two  thousand  years  ago,  in  times 
when  Man's  knowledge  of  himself,  of  his  surroundings, 


MILITANCY  229 

of  the  earth  and  the  universe  was  almost  non-existent, 
yet  they  are  preserved  to  oiir  times  as  sacred  revelations, 
though  they  are  not  superior  to  the  fancies  and  fetish 
rites  of  a  savage.'  There!  All  that  answer  is  quoted 
from  Professor  Rossiter's  little  book  {Home  University 
Library,  "The  Growth  of  the  Human  Mind"). 

Mrs.  Warren:  "  Rossiter !  Is  that  the  man  you're 
sweet  on  ?  " 

Viz'ie:  "  Don't  put  it  so  coarsely.  There  is  a  great 
friendship  between  us.  We  belong  to  a  later  generation 
than  you.  A  man  and  a  woman  can  be  friends  now 
without  becoming  lovers." 

Mrs.  Warren:  "  Go  on!  Don't  humbug  me.  Men 
and  women's  the  same  as  when  I  was  young.  I'm  sorry, 
all  the  same,  dear  girl.  There  are  you,  growin'  middle- 
aged  and  not  married  to  some  good-'earted  chap  as  'd 
give  you  three-four  children  I  could  pet  in  me  old  age. 
Wodjer  want  to  go  fallin'  in  love  with  some  chap  as  'as 
got  a  wife  already?  /  know  your  principles.  There's 
iron  in  yer  blood,  same  as  there  is  in  that  proud  priest, 
your  father.  I  know  you'd  break  your  'eart  sooner  'n 
have  a  good  time  with  the  professor.  My !  It  seems  to 
me  Love's  as  bad  as  Religion  for  bringin'  about  sorrer!  " 

Vivie:  "If  you  mean  that  it  is  answerable  for  the  same 
intense  happiness  and  even  more  intense  ««happiness,  I 
suppose  you're  right.  I'm  miserable,  mother,  and  it's 
some  relief  to  me  to  say  so.  If  I  could  become  honour- 
ably the  wife  of  Michael  Rossiter  I'm  afraid  I  should 
let  Suffrage  have  the  go-by.  But  as  I  can't,  why  this 
struggle  for  the  vote  is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  me  going. 
I  shall  fight  for  it  for  another  ten  years,  and  by  that 
time  certain  physiological  changes  may  have  taken  place 
in  me,  and  my  feelings  towards  Rossiter  will  have  calmed 
down." 

(Here  Mrs.  Warren  proceeded  to  call  out  rather  dis- 
harmoniously  in    Flemish   to   the   poultry   woman,    and 


230  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

asked  why  the  something-or-other  she  let  the  Houdans 
spoil  the  seed  beds.) 

Mrs.  Warren  resuming :  "  Well  it's  clear  you're  your 
father's  daughter.  'E'd  'ave  gone  on  —  did  go  on  —  in 
just  such  a  way.  'Im  and  me  were  jolly  well  suited  to 
one  another.  I'd  got  to  reg'lar  love  'im.  I'd  'a  bin  a 
true  wife  to  him,  and  'ave  worked  my  fingers  to  the  bone 
for  'im,  and  you  bet  I'd  'ave  made  a  livin'  somehow.  And 
he'd  have  written  some  jolly  good  books  and  'ave  made 
lots  of  money.  But  no !  This  beastly  Religion  comes 
in  with  its  scare  of  Hell  fire  and  back  'e  goes  to  the  priests 
and  'is  prayers  and  'is  penances.  The  last  ten  years  or 
so  'e's  bin  filled  up  with  pride.  'Is  passions  ave  died 
down  and  'e  thinks  'imself  an  awful  swell  as  the  head  of 
his  Order.  And  they  do  say  as  'e's  got  'is  fingers  in 
several  pies  and  is  a  reg'lar  old  conspirator,  working  up 
the  Irish  to  do  something  against  England.  Yer  know 
since  I've  made  my  peace  with  you.  .  .  .  Ain't  it  a  rum 
go,  by  the  bye?  Ten  or  twenty  years  ago  it'd  'a  bin 
*  my  peace  with  God.'  I  dunno  nothin'  about  God  — 
can't  see  'im  at  the  end  of  a  telescope,  anyways.  But  I 
can  see  you,  Vivie,  and  there's  no  one  livin'  I  respect 
more"  (speaks  with  real  feeling).  .  .  .  "Well,  as  I 
was  sayin',  since  I'd  set  myself  right  with  you  and  wound 
up  the  business  of  the  hotels  I  ain't  so  easy  cowed  by  'is 
looks  as  I  used  to  be.  So  every  now  and  then  it  amuses 
me  to  run  over  in  my  auto  to  Louvain  and  stroll  about 
there  and  watch  'im  as  'e  comes  out  for  'is  promenade, 
pretendin'  to  be  readin'  a  breviary  or  some  holy  book. 
I  know  it  riles  'im.  .  .  . 

"  Well,  but  for  high  principles,  'e  and  I  might  'a  bin  as 
'appy  as  'appy  and  'ad  a  large  family.  And  there  was 
nothin'  to  stop  'im  a-marryin'  me,  if  that  was  all  he 
wanted  to  feel  comfortable  about  it.  But  jus'  see.  He's 
had  a  life  that  seems  to  me  downright  sterile,  and  I  — 
well,  I  ain't  been  really  happy  till  we  made  it  up  three 


MILITANCY  231 

years  ago  "  (leans  over,  and  kisses  Vivie  a  little  timor- 
ously). 

"  Now  there's  you,  burning  yourself  out  'cos  your 
high  principles  won't  let  you  go  for  once  in  a  way  on  the 
spree  with  this  Rossiter  —  s'posin'  'e's  game,  of  course 
.  .  .  You've  too  much  pride  to  throw  yourself  at  his 
head.  But  if  he  loves  you  as  bad  as  you  loves  'im,  why 
don't  you  ask  him  ''  (instinctively  the  old  ministress  of 
love  speaks  here)  "  ask  'im  to  take  you  over  to  Paris  for 
a  trip?  I'll  lay  'e  'as  to  go  ever  now'n  again  to  the 
Sorbonne  or  one  of  them  scientific  institutes.  Slic'd 
never  come  to  'ear  of  it.  An'  after  one  or  two  such 
honeymoons  you'd  soon  get  tired  of  'im,  specially  now 
you're  gettin'  on  a  bit  in  years,  and  may  be  you'd  settle 
down  quietly  after  that.  Or  if  )^ou  ain't  reg'lar  set  on 
'im,  why  not  giv'  up  this  suffrage  business  and  live  a  bit 
with  me  here?  There's  plenty  of  upstanding,  decent, 
Belgian  men  in  good  positions  as'd  like  to  have  an  Eng- 
lish wife.  They  wouldn't  look  too  shy  at  my 
money.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan!  Mother,  you 
oughtn't  to  make  such  propositions.  Don't  you  under- 
stand, we  must  all  have  a  religion  somewhere.  Some 
principle  to  which  we  sacrifice  ourselves.  Rossiter  would 
be  horrified  if  he  could  hear  you.  His  mistress  is 
Science,  besides  which  he  is  really  devoted  to  his  wife 
and  would  do  nothing  that  could  hurt  her.  You  don't 
know  England,  it's  clear.  Supposing  for  one  moment  I 
could  consent  —  and  I  couldn't  —  we  should  be  found 
out  to  a  certainty,  and  then  Michael's  career  would  be 
ruined. 

"  My  religion,  though  I  sometimes  weary  of  it  and 
sneer  at  it,  is  Women's  Rights :  women  must  have  pre- 
cisely the  same  rights  as  men,  no  disqualification  what- 
ever based  merely  on  their  being  women.  Did  you  read 
those  disgusting  letters  in  the  Times  by  the  surgeon,  the 


232  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

midwifery  man,  Sir  Wrigsby  Blane?  Declaring  that  the 
demand  for  the  Vote  was  -based  on  immorahty,  and  pre- 
tending that  once  a  month,  till  they  were  fifty,  and  for 
several  years  after  they  were  fifty,  women  were  not  re- 
sponsible for  their  actions,  because  of  what  he  vaguely 
called  '  physiological  processes.'  What  poisonous  rub- 
bish !  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  in  most  cases  it 
makes  little  or  no  difference;  and  if  it  does,  what  about 
men?  Aren't  they  at  certain  times  not  their  normal 
selves?  When  they're  full  up  with  wine  or  beer  or 
whiskey,  when  they're  courting,  when  they're  pursuing 
some  illicit  love,  when  after  fifty  they  get  a  little  odd  in 
their  ways  through  this,  that  and  the  other  internal  trouble 
or  change  of  function?  What's  true  of  the  one  sex  is 
equally  true  of  the  other.  Most  men  and  women  between 
twenty  and  sixty  jolly  well  know  what  they  want,  and 
generally  they  want  something  reasonable.  We  don't 
legislate  for  the  freaks,  the  unbalanced,  the  abnormal ;  or 
if  wx  do  restrict  the  vote  in  those  cases,  let's  restrict  it 
for  males  as  well  as  females  —  But  don't  you  see  at  the 
same  time  what  a  text  I  should  furnish  to  this  malign 
creature  if  I  ran  away  to-  Paris  with  Michael,  and  made 
the  slightest  false  step  .  ,  .  even  though  it  had  no  bear- 
ing on  the  main  argument  ?  ,   .  ." 

At  this  juncture  Vivie,  whose  obsession  leads  her 
more  and  more  to  address  every  one  as  a  public  meeting 
—  is  interrupted  by  the  smiling  bonne  a  tout  faire  who 
announces  that  le  dejeuner  de  Madame  est  servi,  and  the 
two  women  gathering  up  books  and  shawls  go  in  to  the 
gay  little  salle-a-manger  of  the  Villa  Beau-sejour. 

On  Vivie's  return  to  London,  after  her  Easter  holiday, 
she  threw  herself  with  added  zest  into  the  Suffrage 
struggle.  The  fortnight  of  good  feeding,  of  quiet  nights 
and  lazy  days  under  her  mother's  roof  had  done  her 
much  good.  She  was  not  quite  so  thin,  the  dark  circles 
under  her  grey  eyes  had  vanished,  and  she  found  not  only 


MILITANCY  233 

in  herself  but  even  in  the  most  middle-aged  of  her  asso- 
ciates a  delightful  spirit  of  tomboyishness  in  their  swell- 
ing revolt  against  the  Liberal  leaders.  It  was  specially 
during  the  remainder  of  19 12  that  Vivie  noted  the  enor- 
mous good  which  the  Suffrage  movement  had  done  and 
was  doing  to  British  women.  It  was  producing  a  splen- 
did camaraderie  between  high  and  low.  Heroines  like 
Lady  Constance  Lytton  mingled  as  sister  with  equally 
heroic  charwomen,  factory  girls,  typewriteresses,  wait- 
resses and  hospital  nurses.  Women  doctors  of  Science, 
Music,  and  Medicine  came  down  into  the  streets  and  did 
the  bravest  actions  to  present  their  rights  before  a  public 
that  now  began  to  take  them  seriously.  Debutantes,  no 
longer  quivering  with  fright  at  entering  the  Royal 
Presence,  modestly  but  audibly  called  their  Sovereign's  at- 
tention to  the  injustice  of  Mr.  Asquith's  attitude  towards 
women,  while  princesses  of  the  Blood  Royal  had  difficulty 
in  not  applauding.  Many  a  tame  cat  had  left  the  fire- 
side and  the  skirts  of  an  inane  old  mother  (who  had 
plenty  of  people  to  look  after  her  selfish  wants)  and 
emerged,  dazed  at  first,  into  a  world  that  was  unknown 
to  her.  Such  had  thrown  away  their  crochet  hooks, 
their  tatting-shuttles  and  fashion  articles,  their  Church 
almanacs,  and  Girl's  Own  Library  books,  and  read  and 
talked  of  social,  sexual,  and  industrial  problems  that  have 
got  to  be  faced  and  solved.  Colour  came  into  their 
cheeks,  assurance  into  their  faded  manners,  sense  and 
sensibility  into  their  talk;  and  whatever  happened  after- 
wards they  were  never  crammed  back  again  into  the 
prison  of  Victorian  spinsterhood.  They  learnt  rough 
cooking,  skilled  confectionery,  typewriting,  bicycling, 
jiu-jitsu  perhaps.  "  The  maidens  came,  they  talked, 
they  sang,  they  read;  till  she  not  fair  began  to  gather 
light,  and  she  that  was  became  her  former  beauty  treble  " 
sang  in  prophecy,  sixty  years  before,  the  greatest  of  poets 
and  the  poet-prophet  of  Woman's  Emancipation.     Many 


234  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

a  woman  has  directly  owed  the  lengthened,  happier,  use- 
fuller  life  that  l)ecame  hers  from  1910-1911-1912  on- 
wards to  the  Suffrage  movement  for  the  Liberation  of 
Women. 

The  crises  of  19 12  moreover  were  not  so  acute  as  bit- 
terly to  envenom  the  struggle  in  the  way  that  happened 
during  the  two  following  years.  There  was  always  some 
hope  that  the  Ministry  might  permit  the  passing  of  an 
amendment  to  the  Franchise  Bill  which  would  in.  some 
degree  affirm  the  principle  of  Female  Suffrage.  It  is 
true  that  a  certain  liveliness  was  maintained  by  the  Suf- 
fragettes. The  W.S.P.U.  dared  not  relax  in  its  mili- 
tancy lest  Ministers  should  think  the  struggle  waning  and 
Woman  already  tiring  of  her  claims.  The  vaunted  Man- 
hood Suffrage  Bill  had  been  introduced  by  an  anti-woman- 
suffrage  Quaker  Minister  and  its  Second  reading  been 
proposed  by  an  equally  anti-feminist  Secretary  of  State 
—  this  was  in  June-Jul}^  1912;  and  no  member  of  the 
Cabinet  had  risen  to  say  a  word  in  favour  of  the  Women's 
claims.  Still,  something  might  be  done  in  Committee, 
in  the  autumn  Session  —  if  there  were  one  —  or  in  the 
following  year.  There  was  a  simmering  in  the  Suffra- 
gist ranks  rather  than  any  alarming  explosion.  In 
March,  before  Vivie  went  to  Brussels,  Mrs.  Pankhurst 
had  carried  out  a  window-smashing  raid  on  Bond  Street 
and  Regent  Street  and  the  clubs  of  Piccadilly,  during 
which  among  the  two  hundred  and  nineteen  arrests  there 
were  brought  to  light  as  "  revolutionaries  "  two  elderly 
women  surgeons  of  great  distinction  and  one  female 
Doctor  of  Music.  In  revenge  the  police  had  raided  the 
W.S.P.U.  offices  at  Clifford's  Inn,  an  event  long  fore- 
seen and  provided  against  in  the  neighbouring  Chancery 
Lane. 

The  Irish  Nationalist  Party  had  shown  its  marked 
hostility  to  the  enfranchisement  of  women  in  any  Irish 
Parliament  and  so  a    few   impulsive   Irish   women   had 


MILITANCY  235 

thrown  things  at  NationaHst  M.P.'s  without  hurting 
them.  Mr.  Lansbur}^  had  spoken  the  plain  truth  to  the 
Prime  Minister  in  the  House  of  Commons  and  had  been 
denied  access  to  that  Chamber  where  Truth  is  so  sel- 
dom welcome. 

In  July  the  slumbering  movement  towards  resisting 
the  payment  of  taxes  by  vote-less  women  woke  up  into 
real  activity,  and  there  were  many  ludicrous  and  pathetic 
scenes  organized  often  by  Vivie  and  Bertie  Adams  at 
which  household  effects  were  sold  and  bought  in  by 
friends  to  satisfy  the  claims  of  a  tax-collector.  In  the 
autumn  Vivie  and  others  of  the  W.S.P.U.  organized  great 
pilgrimages  —  the  marches  of  the  Brown  Women  — 
from  Scotland,  Wales,  Devon  and  Norfolk  to  London,  to 
some  goal  in  Downing  Street  or  Whitehall,  some  door- 
step which  already  had  every  inch  of  its  space  covered 
by  policemen's  boots.  These  were  among  the  pleasantest 
of  the  manifestations  and  excited  great  good  humour  in 
the  populace  of  town  and  country.  They  were  extended 
picnics  of  ten  days  or  a  fortnight.  The  steady  tramp  of 
sixteen  to  twenty  miles  a  day  did  the  women  good;  the 
food  en  route  was  abundant  and  eaten  with  tremendous 
appetite.  The  pilgrims  on  arrival  in  London  were  a  justi- 
fication in  physical  fitness  of  Woman's  claim  to  equal 
privileges  with  Man. 

Vivie  after  her  Easter  holiday  took  an  increasingly 
active  part  in  these  manifestations  of  usually  good- 
humoured  insurrection.  As  Vivien  Warren  she  was  not 
much  known  to  the  authorities  or  to  the  populace  but  she 
soon  became  so  owing  to  her  striking  appearance,  telling 
voice  and  gift  of  oratory.  All  the  arts  she  had  learnt 
as  David  Williams  she  displayed  now  in  pleading  the 
woman's  cause  at  the  Albert  Hall,  at  Manchester,  in 
Edinburgh  and  Glasgow.  Countess  Feenix  took  her  up, 
invited  her  to  dinner  parties  where  she  found  herself 
placed  next  to  statesmen  in  office,  who  at  first  morose  and 


236  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

nervous  —  expecting  every  moment  a  personal  assault 
—  gradually  thawed  when  they  found  her  a  good  con- 
versationalist, a  clever  woman  of  the  world,  becomingly 
dressed.  After  all,  she  had  been  a  third  wrangler  at 
Cambridge,  almost  a  guarantee  that  her  subsequent  life 
could  not  be  irregular,  according  to  a  man's  standard  in 
England  of  what  an  unmarried  woman's  life  should  be. 
She  deprecated  the  violence  of  the  militants  in  this  phase. 
But  she  was  Protean.  Much  of  her  work,  the  law- 
less part  of  it,  was  organized  in  the  shape*  and  dress  of 
Mr.  Michaelis.  Some  of  her  letters  to  the  Press  were 
signed  Edgar  McKenna,  Albert  Birrell,  Andrew  Asquith, 
Edgmont  Harcourt,  Felicia  Ward,  Millicent  Curzon, 
Judith  Pease,  Edith  Spenser-Churchhill,  Marianne 
Chamberlain,  or  Emily  Burns ;  and  affected  to  be  pleas 
for  the  granting  of  the  Suffrage  emanating  from  the 
revolting  sons  or  daughters,  aunts,  sisters  or  wives  of 
great  statesmen,  prominent  for  their  opposition  to  the 
Women's  Cause.  The  W.S.P.U.  had  plenty  of  funds 
and  it  did  not  cost  much  getting  visiting  cards  engraved 
with  such  names  and  supplied  with  the  home  address  of 
the  great  personage  whom  it  was  intended  to  annoy. 
One  such  card  as  an  evidence  of  good  faith  would  be 
attached  to  the  plausibly-worded  letter.  The  Times  was 
seldom  taken  in,  but  great  success  often  attended  these 
audacious  deceptions,  especially  in  the  important  organs 
of  the  provincial  press.  Editors  and  sub-editors  sel- 
dom took  the  trouble  and  the  time  to  hunt  through  Who's 
Who,  or  a  Peerage  to  identify  the  writer  of  the  letter 
claiming  the  Vote  for  Women.  No  real  combination  of 
names  was  given,  thus  forgery  was  avoided;  but  the 
public  and  the  unsuspecting  Editor  were  left  with  the 
impression  that  the  Premier's,  Colonial  Secretary's, 
Home  Secretary's,  Board  of  Trade  President's,  or 
prominent  anti-suffragist  woman's  son,  daughter,  brother, 
sister,  wife  or  mother-in-law  did  not  at  all  agree  with  the 


MILITANCY  237 

anti-feminist  opinions  of  its  father,  mother,  brother  or 
husband.  If  the  pohtician  were  fooHsh  enough  to 
answer  and  protest,  he  was  generally  at  a  disadvantage ; 
the  public  thought  it  a  good  joke  and  no  one  (in  the 
provinces)  believed  his  disclaimers. 

Vivie  generally  heckled  ministers  on  the  stump  and 
parliamentary  candidates  dressed  as  a  woman  of  the 
lower  middle  class.  It  would  have  been  unwise  to  do 
so  in  man's  guise,  in  case  there  should  be  a  rough-and- 
tumble  afterwards  and  her  sex  be  discovered.  Although 
in  order  to  avoid  premature  arrest  she  did  not  herself 
take  part  in  those  most  ingenious  —  and  from  the  view 
of  endurance,  heroic  —  stow-away s  of  women  inter- 
rupters in  the  roofs,  attics,  inaccessible  organ  lofts  or 
music  galleries  of  public  halls,  she  organized  many  of 
these  surprises  beforehand.  It  was  Vivie  to  whom  the 
brilliant  idea  came  of  once  baffling  the  police  in  the  re- 
arrest of  either  Mrs.  Pankhurst  or  Annie  Kenney. 
Know'ing  when  the  police  w^ould  come  to  the  building 
where  one  or  other  of  these  ladies  was  to  make  her  sen- 
sational re-appearance,  she  had  previously  secreted  there 
forty  other  women  who  were  dressed  and  veiled  precisely 
similarly  to  the  fugitive  from  justice.  Thus,  when  the 
force  of  constables  claimed  admittance,  forty-one 
women,  virtually  indistinguishable  one  from  the  other, 
ran  out  into  the  street,  and  the  bewildered  minions  of  the 
law  were  left  lifting  their  helmets  to  scratch  puzzled 
heads  and  admitting  "  the  wimmen  were  a  bit  too  much 
for  us,  this  time,  they  were.'' 

In  her  bedroom  at  88-90  she  kept  an  equipment  of 
theatrical  disguises ;  very  natural-looking  moustaches 
which  could  be  easily  applied  and  which  remained  firmly 
adhering  save  under  the  application  of  the  right  solvent; 
pairs  of  tinted  spectacles;  wigs  of  credible  appearance; 
different  styles  of  suiting,  different  types  of  women's 
dress.     She  sometimes  sat  in  trains  as  a  handsome,  im- 


238  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

pressive  matron  of  fifty-five,  with  a  Pompadour  confec- 
tion and  a  tortoiseshell  facc-a-main,  conversing  with 
ministers  of  state  or  permanent  officials  on  their  way  to 
their  country  seats,  and  saying  "Horrid  creatures!"  if 
any  one  referred  to  the  activities  of  the  Suffragettes. 
Thus  disguised  she  ehcited  considerable  information 
sometimes,  though  she  might  really  be  on  her  way  to 
organize  the  break-up  of  the  statesman's  public  meet- 
ing, the  enquir}^  into  discreditable  circumstances  which 
might  compel  his  withdrawal  from  public  life,  or  merely 
the  burning  down  of  his  shooting  box. 

This  life  had  its  risks  and  perils,  but  it  agreed  with 
her  health.  It  was  exciting  and  took  her  mind  off  Ros- 
siter. 

Rossiter  for  his  part  experienced  a  slackening  in  the 
tension  of  his  mind  during  the  same  year  191 2.  He 
was  touched  by  his  wife's  faint  suspicion  of  his  alien- 
ated affection  and  by  her  dogged  determination  to  be 
sufficient  to  him  as  a  companion  and  a  helper ;  and  a  little 
ashamed  at  his  middle-aged  —  he  was  forty-seven  — 
infatuation  for  a  woman  who  was  herself  well  on  in  the 
thirties.  There  were  times  when  a  rift  came  in  the  cloud 
of  his  passion  for  Vivie,  when  he  looked  out  dispassion- 
ately on  the  prospect  of  the  rest  of  his  life  —  he  could 
hope  at  most  for  twenty  more  y^ars  of  mental  and  bodily 
activity  and  energy.  Was  this  all  too  brief  period  to 
be  filled  up  with  a  senile  renewal  of  sexual  longing!  He 
felt  ashamed  of  the  thoughts  that  had  occupied  so  much  of 
his  mind  since  he  had  laid  David  Williams  on  the  couch 
of  his  library,  to  find  it  was  Vivie  Warren  whose  arms 
were  round  his  neck.  He  was  not  sorry  this  love  for  a 
woman  he  could  not  possess  had  sent  him  into  Parliament. 
He  was  beginning  to  enjoy  himself  there.  He  had  found 
himself,  had  lost  that  craven  fear  of  the  Speaker  that 
paralyzes  most  new  members.  He  knew  when  to  speak 
and  when  to  be  silent;  and  when  he  spoke  unsuspected 


MILITANCY  239 

gifts  of  biting  sarcasm,  clever  characterization,  convinc- 
ing scorn  of  the  uneducated  minister  type  came  to  his  aid. 
His  tongue  played  round  his  victims,  unequipped  as  they 
were  with  his  vast  experience  of  reality,  vaguely  discur- 
sive, on  the  surface  as  are  most  lawyers,  at  a  loss  for 
similes  and  tropes  as  are  most  men  of  business,  or  dull 
of  wits  as  are  most  of  the  fine  flowers  of  the  public 
schools,  stultified  with  the  classics  and  scripture  history. 
He  knew  that  unless  there  was  some  radical  change  of 
government  he  could  not  be  a  minister ;  but  he  cared  little 
for  that.  He  was  rich  —  thanks  to  his  wife  —  he  was 
recovering  his  influence  and  his  European  and  American 
reputation  as  a  great  discoverer,  a  deep  thinker.  He  en- 
joyed pulverizing  the  Ministry  over  their  sufifrage  in- 
sincerities and  displaying  his  contempt  of  the  politician 
elected  only  for  his  money  influence  in  borough,  county, 
or  in  the  subscription  lists  of  the  Chief  Whip.  Though 
his  pulses  still  beat  a  little  quicker  when  he  held  Vivie's 
hand  in  his  at  some  reception  of  Lady  Feenix's  or  a  din- 
ner party  at  the  Gorings  —  Vivie  as  the  child  of  a 
"  fallen  "  woman  had  a  prescriptive  right  of  entrance 
to  Diana's  circle  —  he  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of 
running  away  with  her,  of  nipping  his  career  in  two, 
just  as  he  might  be  scaling  the  last  heights  to  the  citadel 
of  fame :  either  as  a  politician  of  the  new  type,  the  type 
of  high  education,  or  as  one  of  the  giants  of  inductive 
science.  Besides  in  1912,  if  I  mistake  not.  Dr.  Smith- 
Woodward  and  Mr.  Charles  Dawson  made  that  discovery 
of  the  remains  of  an  ape-like  man  in  the  gravels  of  mid- 
Sussex;  and  the  hounds  of  Anthropology  went  off  on  a 
new  scent  at  full  cry,  Rossiter  foremost  in  the  pack. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  in  the  same  year  allowed  herself  more 
and  more  to  be  tempted  into  anti-suffrage  discussions 
at  the  houses  of  peers  or  of  strong-minded,  influential 
ladies  who  were  on  the  easiest  terms  with  peers  and 
potentates.     She  still  resented  the  line  her  husband  had 


240  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

taken  in  politics  and  believed  it  to  be  chiefly  due  to  an 
inexplicable  interest  in  Vivien  Warren  who  she  began  to 
feel  was  the  same  person  as  "  David  Williams." 

If  she  could  only  master  the  "  Anti  "  arguments  — 
they  sounded  so  convincing  from  the  lips  of  Miss  Violet 
Markham  or  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward  or  some  suave 
King's  Counsel  wnth  the  remnants  of  mutton-chop 
whiskers  —  if  she  could  wean  Michael  away  from  that 
disturbing  nonsense  —  he  could  assign  "  militancy  "  as 
the  justification  of  his  change  of  mind  .  .  !  All  that 
was  asked  by  Authority,  so  far  as  she  could  interpret 
hints  from  great  ladies,  was  neutrality,  the  return  of 
Professor  Rossiter  to  the  paths  of  pure  science  in  which 
area  no  one  disputed  his  eminence.  Then  he  might  re- 
ceive that  knighthood  that  was  long  overdue ;  better  still 
his  next  lot  of  discoveries  in  anatomy  might  bring  him 
the  peerage  he  richly  deserved  and  which  her  wealth 
would  support.  He  could  then  rest  on  his  oars,  cease 
his  more  or  less  nasty  investigations ;  they  could  take  a 
place  in  the  country  and  move  from  this  much  too  large 
house  which  lay  almost  outside  the  limits  of  Society's 
London  to  a  really  well-appointed  flat  in  Westminster 
and  have  a  thoroughly  enjoyable  old  age. 

Honoria  in  these  times  did  not  see  so  much  of  Vivie 
as  before.  Her  warrior  husband  spent  a  good  deal  of 
1 9 12  at  home  as  he  had  a  Hounslow  command.  He  had 
come  to  realize  —  some  spiteful  person  had  told  him  — 
who  Vivie's  mother  had  been,  and  told  Honoria  in  ac- 
cents of  finality  that  the  "  Aunt  Vivie  "  nonsense  must 
be  dropped  and  Vivie  must  not  come  to  the  house.  At 
the  most,  if  she  luust  meet  her  friend  of  college  days  — 
oh,  he  was  quite  willing  to  believe  in  her  personal  pro- 
priety, though  there  were  odd  stories  in  circulation  about 
her  dressing  as  a  man  and  doing  some  very  rum  things 
for  the  W.S.P.U. —  still  if  she  must  see  her,  it  would 
have  to  be  in  public  places  or  at  her  friends,  at  Lady 


MILITANCY  241 

Feenix's,  if  she  liked.  No.  He  wasn't  attacking  the 
cause  of  Suffrage.  Women  could  have  the  vote  and 
welcome  so  far  as  he  was  concerned :  they  couldn't  be 
greater  fools  than  the  men,  and  they  were  probably  less 
corrupt.  He  himself  never  remembered  voting  in  his 
life,  so  Honoria  was  no  worse  off  than  her  husband.  But 
he  drew  the  line  in  his  children's  friends  at  the  daughter 
of  a.  .  .  . 

Here  Honoria  to  avoid  hearing  something  she  could 
not  forgive  put  her  plump  hand  over  his  bristly  mouth. 
He  kissed  it  and  somehow  she  couldn't  take  the  high 
tone  she  had  at  first  intended.  She  simply  said  "  she 
would  see  about  it  "  and  met  the  difficulty  by  giving  up 
her  suffrage  parties  for  a  bit  and  attending  Lady  Maud's 
instead ;  where  you  met  not  only  poor  Vivie,  but  —  had 
she  been  in  London  and  guaranteed  reformed  and  rangee 
—  you  might  have  met  Vivie's  mother ;  as  well  as  the 
Duchess  of  Dulborough  —  American,  and  intensely 
Suffrage  —  the  charwoman  from  Little  Francis  Street, 
the  bookseller's  wife,  the  "  mother  of  the  maids"  from 
Derry  and  Toms ;  and  that  ver}^  clever  chemist  who  had 
mended  Juliet  Duff's  nose  when  she  fell  on  the  ice  at 
Princes' —  they  would  both  be  there.  Honoria  said  noth- 
ing to  Vivie  and  Vivie  said  nothing  to  Honoria  about 
the  inhibition,  but  together  with  her  irrational  jealousy  of 
Eoanthropos  dawsoni  and  irritation  at  the  growing  con- 
tentedness  with  things  as  they  were  on  the  part  of  Ros- 
siter,  it  made  her  a  trifle  more  reckless  in  her  militancy. 

And  Praddy?  How  did  he  fare  in  these  times? 
Praed  felt  himself  increasingly  out  of  the  picture.  He 
was  not  far  gone  in  the  sixties,  sixty-one,  perhaps  at 
most.  But  out  of  the  movement.  In  his  prime  the 
people  of  his  set  —  the  cultivated  upper  middle  class, 
with  a  few  recruits  from  the  peerage  —  cared  only  about 
Art  in  some  shape  or  form  —  recondite  music,  the  themes 
of  which  were  never  obvious  enough  to  be  hummed,  the 


242  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

androgyne  poetry  of  the  'nineties,  morbidities  from  the 
Yellow  Book,  and  Scarlet  Sins  that  you  disclaimed  for 
yourself,  to  avoid  unpleasantness  with  the  Criminal  In- 
vestigation Department,  but  freely  attributed  to  people 
who  were  not  in  the  room;  the  drawings  of  Aubrey 
Beardsley  and  successors  in  audacity  and  ugly  indecency 
who  left  Beardsley  a  mere  disciple  of  Raphael  Tuck; 
also  architecture  which  ignored  the  housemaid's  sink,  the 
box-room  and  the  fire-escape. 

The  people  who  still  came  to  his  studio  because  he 
had  the  reputation  of  being  a  wit  and  the  husband  of  his 
parlour-maid  (whom  to  her  indignation  they  called  Queen 
Cophetua)  cared  not  a  straw  about  Art  in  any  shape  or 
form.  The  women  wanted  the  Vote  —  few  of  them 
knew  why  —  the  men  wanted  to  be  aviators,  motorists 
beating  the  record  in  speed  on  French  trial  trips,  or 
Apaches  in  their  relations  with  the  female  sex  or  prize- 
fighters —  Jimmy  Wilde  had  displaced  Oscar,  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  humanity,  even  Praddy  agreed. 

To  Praed  however  Vivie  took  the  bitterness,  the  disil- 
lusions which  came  over  her  at  intervals : 

"  I  feel,  Praddy,  I'm  getting  older  and  I  seem  to  be 
at  a  loose  end.  D'you  know  I'm  on  the  verge  of  thirty- 
seven —  and  I  have  no  definite  career?  I'm  rather  tired 
of  being  a  well-meaning  adventuress." 

"  Then  why,"  Praddy  would  reply,  "  don't  you  go  and 
live  with  your  mother?  " 

"  Ugh !  I  couldn't  stand  for  long  that  life  in  Belgium 
or  elsewhere  abroad.  They  seem  miles  behind  us,  with 
all  our  faults.  Mother  only  seems  to  think  now  of  good 
things  to  eat  and  a  course  of  the  waters  at  Spa  in  Sep- 
tember to  neutralize  the  over-eating  of  the  other  eleven 
months.  There  is  no  political  career  for  women  on  the 
Continent." 

"  Then  why  not  marry  and  have  children  ?  That  is  a 
career  In  itself.     Look  at  Honoria,  how  happy  she  is." 


MILITANCY  243 

"  Yes  —  but  there  is  only  one  man  I  could  love,  and 
lie's  married  already." 

"  Pooh !  nonsense.  There  are  as  many  good  fish  in  the 
sea  as  ever  came  out  of  it.  If  you  won't  do  as  Beryl 
did  —  by  the  bye  isn't  she  a  swell  in  these  days !  And 
strict  with  her  daughters !  She  won't  let  'em  come  here, 
I'm  told,  because  of  some  silly  story  some  one  set  abroad 
about  me !  And  that  humbug,  Francis  Brimley  Storring- 
ton  —  by  the  bye  he's  an  A.R.A.  now  and  scarcely  has 
enough  talent  to  design  a  dog  kennel,  yet  they've  given 
him  the  job  of  the  new  stables  at  Buckingham  Palace. 
Well  if  you  won't  share  some  one  else's  husband,  pick  out 
a  good  man  for  yourself.  There  must  be  plenty  going  — 
some  retired  prize-fighter.  They  seem  all  the  rage  just 
now,  and  are  supposed  to  be  awfully  gentlemanly  out  of 
the  ring." 

"  Don't  be  perverse.  You  know  exactly  how  I  feel. 
I'm  wasting  the  prime  of  my  life.  I  see  no  clear  course 
marked  out  l^efore  me.  Sometimes  I  think  I  would  like 
to  explore  Central  Africa  or  get  up  a  Woman's  Expedi- 
tion to  the  South  Pole.  Life  has  seemed  so  flat  since 
I  gave  up  being  David  Williams.  Then  I  lived  in  a 
perpetual  thrill,  always  on  my  guard.  I  tire  every  now 
and  then  of  my  monkey  tricks,  and  the  praise  of  all  these 
women  leaves  me  cold.  I  wish  I  were  as  simple  minded 
as  most  of  them  are.  To  them  the  Vote  seems  the  begin- 
ning of  the  millennium.  They  seem  to  forget  that  after 
we've  got  the  Vote  we  shall  have  another  fight  to  be 
admitted  as  members  to  the  House.  You  may  be  sure  the 
men  v/ill  stand  out  another  fifty  years  over  that  surrender. 
I  alternate  in  my  moods  between  the  reckless  fury  of  an 
Anarchist  and  the  lassitude  of  Lord  Rosebery.  To  think 
that  I  was  once  so  elated  and  conceited  about  being  a 
Third  Wrangler.  .  .    !  '' 

With  the  closing  months  of  191 2,  however,  there  was 
a  greater  tenseness,  a  sharpening  of  the  struggle  which 


244  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

once  more  roused  Vivie  to  keen  interest.  When  she 
returned  from  an  autumn  visit  to  Villa  Beau-sejour  she 
found  there  had  been  a  split  between  the  "  Peths  "  and 
the  "  Panks."  The  Girondist  section  of  the  women 
suffragists  had  separated  from  those  who  could  see  no 
practical  policy  to  win  the  Vote  but  a  regime  of  Terror- 
ism—  mild  terrorism,  it  is  true  —  somewhat  that  of  the 
Curate  in  The  Private  Secretary  who  at  last  told  his  perse- 
cutors he  should  really  have  to  give  them  a  good  hard 
knock.  The  Peths  drew  back  before  the  Pankish  pro- 
gramme (mild  as  this  would  seem,  to  us  of  Bolshevik 
days  and  of  Irish  insurrection).  Votes  for  Women 
returned  to  the  control  of  the  Pethick  Lawrences,  and 
the  Pankhurst  party  to  which  Vivie  belonged  were  to 
start  a  new  press  organ,  The  Suffragette. 

The  Panks,  it  seemed,  had  a  more  acute  fore-knowledge 
than  the  Peths.  The  latter  had  felt  they  were  forcing 
an  open  door ;  that  the  Liberal  Ministry  would  eventually 
squeeze  a  measure  of  Female  Suffrage  into  the  long- 
discussed  Franchise  Bill;  and  that  too  much  militancy 
was  disgusting  the  general  public  with  the  Woman's 
cause.  The  former  declared  all  along  that  Women  were 
going  to  be  done  in  the  eye,  because  all  the  militancy 
hitherto  had  got  very  little  in  man's  way,  had  only  ex- 
cited smiles,  and  shoulder-shrugs.  Ministers  of  the 
Crown  in  191 2  had  compared  the  hoydenish  booby-traps 
and  bloodless  skirmishes  of  the  Suffragettes  with  the  grim 
fighting,  the  murders,  burnings,  mob-rule  of  the  1830's, 
when  MEN  were  agitating  for  Reform ;  or  the  mutila- 
tion of  cattle,  the  assassinations,  dynamite  outrages,  gun- 
powder plots,  bombs  and  boycotting  of  the  long  drawn- 
out  Irish  agitation  for  Home  Rule.  An  agitation  which 
was  now  resulting  in  the  placing  on  the  Statute  Book  of 
a  Home  Rule  Bill,  while  another  equally  deadly  agitation 
—  in  promise  —  was  being  worked  up  by  Sir  Edward 
Carson,  the  Duke  of  This  and  the  Marquis  of  That,  and 


MILITANCY  245 

a  very  rising  politician,  Mr.  F.  E.  Smith,  to  defeat  the 
operation  of  Home  Rule  for  Ireland.  In  short,  if  one 
might  believe  the  second-rate  ministers  who  were  not  re- 
pudiated by  their  superiors  in  rank,  the  Vote  for  Women 
could  only  be  wrung  from  the  reluctance  of  the  tyrant 
man,  if  the  women  made  life  unbearable  for  the  male 
section  of  the  community. 

It  was  a  dangerous  suggestion  to  make,  or  would  have 
proved  so,  had  these  sneering  politicians  been  provoking 
men  to  claim  their  constitutional  rights :  bloodshed  would 
almost  certainly  have  followed.  But  the  leaders  of  the 
militant  women  ordered  (and  were  obeyed)  that  no 
attacks  on  life  should  be  part  of  the  Woman's  militant 
programme.  Property  might  be  destroyed,  especially 
such  as  did  not  impoverish  the  poor;  but  there  were  to 
be  no  railway  accidents,  no  sinking  of  ships,  no  violent 
deeds  dangerous  to  life.  At  the  height  and  greatest 
bitterness  of  militancy  no  statesman's  life  was  in  danger. 

The  only  recklessness  about  life  was  in  the  militant 
women.  They  risked  and  sometimes  lost  their  lives  in 
carrying  out  their  protests.  They  invented  the  Hunger 
Strike  (the  prospect  of  which  as  an  inevitable  episode 
ahead  of  her,  filled  Vivie  with  tremulous  dread)  to  balk 
the  Executive  of  its  idea  of  turning  the  prisons  of 
England  into  Bastilles  for  locking  up  these  clamant 
women  who  had  become  better  lawyers  than  the  men 
who  tried  them.  But  think  what  the  Hunger  Strike  and 
its  concomitant,  Forcible  Feeding,  meant  in  the  way  of 
pain  and  danger  to  the  life  of  the  victim.  The  Govern- 
ment were  afraid  (unless  you  were  an  utterly  unknown 
man  or  woman  of  the  lower  classes)  of  letting  you  die 
in  prison;  so  to  force  them  to  release  you,  you  had  first 
to  refuse  for  four  days  all  food  —  the  heroic  added  all 
drink.  Then  to  prevent  your  death  —  and  being  human 
you,  the  prisoner,  must  have  hoped  they  were  keeping 
a  good  look-out  on  your  growing  weakness  —  the  prison 


246  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

doctor  must  intervene  with  his  forcible  feeding.  This 
was  a  form  of  torture  the  Inquisition  would  have  been 
sorry  to  have  overlooked,  and  one  no  doubt  that  the 
Bolsheviks  have  practised  with  great  glee.  The  patient 
was  strapped  to  a  chair  or  couch  or  had  his  —  usually  her 

—  limbs  held  down  by  warders  (wardresses)  and 
nurses.  A  steel  or  a  wooden  gag  was  then  inserted,  often 
with  such  roughness  as  to  chip  or  break  the  teeth,  and 
through  the  forced-open  mouth  a  tube  was  pushed  down 
the  throat,  sometimes  far  enough  to  hurt  the  stomach. 
This  produced  an  apoplectic  condition  of  choking  and 
nausea,  and  as  the  stomach  filled  up  with  liquid  food  the 
retching  nearly  killed  the  patient.  The  windpipe  became 
involved.  Food  entered  the  lungs  —  the  tongue  was  cut 
and  bruised  (Think  what  a  mere  pimple  on  the  tongue 
means  to  some  of  us :  it  keeps  me  awake  half  the  night) 

—  the  lips  were  torn.  Worse  still  —  requiring  really  a 
pathological  essay  to  which  I  am  not  equal  —  was  feeding 
by  slender  pipes  through  the  nose.  The  far  simpler  and 
painless  process  per  rectum  was  debarred  because  it  might 
have  constituted  an  indecent  assault. 

Was  ever  Ministry  in  a  greater  dilemma?  It  was  too 
old-fashioned,  too  antiquely  educated  to  realize  the  spirit 
of  its  age,  the  pass  at  which  we  had  arrived  of  conceding 
to  Women  the  same  rights  as  to  men.  Women  were 
ready  to  die  for  these  rights  (not  to  kill  others  in  order 
to  attain  them).  Yet  for  fear  of  wounding  the  national 
sentimentality  they  must  not  be  allowed  to  die ;  they  must 
not  be  saved  from  suicide  by  any  action  savouring  of 
indecency;  so  they  must  be  tortured  as  prisoners  hardly 
were  in  the  worst  days  of  the  Inquisition  or  at  the  worst- 
conducted  public  school  of  the  Victorian  era. 

But  Vivie's  gradually  rising  wrath  was  to  be  brought  by 
degrees  to  boiling-point  through  the  spring  of  191 3,  and 
to  explode  at  last  over  an  incident  more  tragic  than  any 
one  of  the  five  or  six  hundred  cases  of  forcible  feeding. 


MILITANCY  247 

Early  in  191 3,  the  Speaker  intimated  that  any  insertion 
of  a  Woman  Suffrage  Amendment  into  the  Manhood 
Franchise  Bill  would  be  inconsistent  with  some  unwritten 
code  of  Parliamentary  procedure  of  which  apparently  he 
was  the  sole  guardian  and  interpreter.  Ministers  who 
had  probably  prepared  this  coup  months  before  went 
about  expressing  hypocritical  laments  at  the  eccentricities 
of  our  constitution;  and  the  Franchise  Act  was  aban- 
doned. A  little  later,  frightened  at  the  renewal  of  arson 
in  town  and  country,  at  interferences  with  their  week- 
end golf  courses,  at  the  destruction  of  mails  in  the  letter- 
boxes, and  the  slashing  of  Old  Masters  at  the  National 
Gallery  (purchased  at  about  five  times  their  intrinsic  value 
by  a  minister  who  would  not  have  spent  one  penny  of 
national  money  to  encourage  native  art),  the  Cabinet  let 
it  be  known  that  a  way  would  be  found  presently  to  give 
Woman  Suffrage  a  clear  run.  A  private  member  would 
be  allowed  to  bring  in  a  Bill  for  conferring  the  franchise 
on  women,  and  the  opinion  of  the  House  would  be  sought 
on  its  merits  independently  of  party  issues.  The  Govern- 
ment Whips  would  be  withdrawn  and  members  of  the 
Government  be  left  free  to  vote  as  they  pleased. 

It  was  a  fair  deduction,  however,  from  what  was  said 
at  that  time  and  later,  that  the  strongest  possible  pressure 
—  arguments  ad  homincm  and  in  a  sense  ad  pecuniam  — 
was  brought  to  bear  on  Liberals  and  on  Irish  Nationalists 
to  vote  against  the  Bill.  Had  the  Second  reading  been 
carried,  the  Government  would  have  resigned  and  a  Home 
Rule  Bill  for  Ireland  have  been  once  more  postponed. 

The  rejection  of  Mr.  Dickinson's  measure  by  a  major- 
ity of  forty-seven  convinced  the  Militants  that  Pharaoh 
had  once  more  hardened  his  heart ;  and  the  hopelessness 
of  the  Woman's  cause  at  that  juncture  inspired  one 
woman  with  a  resolution  to  give  her  life  as  a  protest  in 
the  manner  most  calculated  to  impress  the  male  mind  of 
the  British  public. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IMPRISONMENT 

PRIOR  to  the  Derby  day  of  191 3,  Vivie  had  heard  of 
Emily  Wilding  Davison  as  a  Northumbrian  woman, 
distantly  related  to  the  Rossiters  and  also  to  the  Lady 
Shillito  she  had  once  defended.  She  came  from  Morpeth 
in  Northumberland  and  had  had  a  very  distinguished 
University  career  at  Oxford  and  in  London,  of  which 
latter  university  she  was  a  b.a.  The  theme  of  the  elec- 
toral enfranchisement  of  Women  had  gradually  pos- 
sessed her  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  subjects ; 
she  became  in  fact  a  fanatic  in  the  cause  and  a  predestined 
martyr  to  it.  In  1909  she  had  received  her  first  sentence 
of  imprisonment  for  making  a  constitutional  protest,  and 
to  escape  forcible  feeding  had  barricaded  her  cell.  The 
Visiting  Committee  had  driven  her  from  this  position 
by  directing  the  warders  to  turn  a  hose  pipe  on  her  and 
knock  her  senseless  with  a  douche  of  cold  water;  for 
w^hich  irregularity  they  were  afterwards  fined  and  mulcted 
in  costs.  Two  years  later,  for  another  Suffragist 
off'ence  (setting  fire  to  a  pillar  box  after  giving  warning 
of  her  intention)  she  went  to  prison  for  six  months. 
Here  the  tortures  of  forcible  feeding  so  overcame  her 
reason  —  it  was  alleged  —  that  she  flung  herself  from 
an  upper  gallery,  believing  she  would  be  smashed  on  the 
pavement  below  and  that  her  death  under  such  circum- 
stances might  call  attention  to  the  agony  of  forcible  feed- 
ing and  the  reckless  disregard  of  consequences  which  now 
inspired  educated  women  who  were  resolved  to  obtain 

the   enfranchisement   of   their   sex.     But  an   iron   wire 

248 


IMPRISONMENT  249 

grating-  eight  feet  below  broke  her  fall  and  only  cut  her 
face  and  hands.  The  accident  or  attempted  suicide,  how- 
ever, procured  the  shortening  of  her  sentence. 

Vivie  and  she  often  met  in  the  early  months  of  1913, 
and  on  the  first  day  of  June  she  confided  to  a  few  of  the 
W.S.P.U.  her  intention  of  making  at  Epsom  a  public 
protest  against  public  indifference  to  the  cause  of  the 
Woman's  Franchise.  This  protest  was  to  be  made  in  the 
most  striking  manner  possible  at  the  supreme  moment 
of  the  Derby  race  on  the  4th  of  June.  Probably  no  one 
to  whom  she  mentioned  the  matter  thought  she  contem- 
plated offering  up  her  own  life;  at  most  they  must  have 
imagined  some  speech  from  the  Grand  Stand,  some  ad- 
dress to  Royalty  thrown  into  the  Royal  pavilion,  some 
waving  of  a  Suffrage  Flag  or  early-morning  plaKiarding 
of  the  bookies'  stands. 

Vivie  however  had  been  turning  her  thoughts  to  horse- 
racing  as  a  field  of  activity.  She  was  amused  and  in- 
terested at  the  effect  that  had  been  produced  in  ministerial 
circles  by  her  interference  with  the  game  of  golf.  If  now 
something  was  done  by  the  militants  seriously  to  impede 
the  greatest  of  the  sports,  the  national  form  of  gambling, 
the  protected  form  of  swindling,  the  main  interest  in  life 
of  the  working-class,  of  half  the  peerage,  all  the  beerage, 
the  chief  lure  of  the  newspapers  between  October  and 
July,  and  the  preoccupation  of  princes,  she  might  awaken 
the  male  mind  in  a  very  effectual  way  to  the  need  for  set- 
tling the  Suffrage  question. 

So  she  determined  also  to  'see  the  running  of  the  Derby, 
as  a  preliminary  to  deciding  on  a  plan  of  campaign.  She 
had  become  hardened  to  pushing  and  scrouging,  so  that 
the  struggle  to  get  a  seat  in  one  of  the  fifty  or  sixty  race 
trains  leaving  Waterloo  or  Victoria  left  her  comparatively 
calm.  She  was  dressed  as  a  young  man  and  had  no 
clothing  impediments,  and  as  a  young  man  she  was  better 
able  to  travel  down  with  racing  rascality.     In  that  guise 


250  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

she  did  not  attract  too  much  attention.  Rough  play  may 
have  been  in  the  mind  of  the  card-playing,  spirit-drink- 
ing scoundrels  that  occupied  the  other  seats  in  the  com- 
partment, but  Vivie  in  her  man's  dress  created  a  certain 
amount  of  suspicion  and  caution.  "  Looks  like  a  '  tec,'  " 
one  man  whispered  to  another.  So  the  card-playing  was 
not  thrust  on  her  as  a  round-about  form  of  plunder,  and 
the  stories  told  were  more  those  derived  from  the  spicy 
columns  of  the  sporting  papers,  in  words  of  double  mean- 
ing, than  the  outspoken,  stable  obscenity  characteristic 
of  the  race-course  rabble. 

Vivie  arriving  early  managed  to  secure  a  fairly  good 
seat  on  the  Grand  Stand,  to  which  she  could  have  recourse 
when  the  crowd  on  the  race  course  became  too  repulsive 
or  too  dangerous.     She  wished  as  much  as  possible  to  see 
all  aspects  of  the  premier  race  meeting.     Indeed,  meeting 
a  friend  of  Lady  Feenix's,  a  good-natured  young  peer 
who  halted   irresolute  between   four  worlds  • —  the  phil- 
osophic, the  political,  the  philanthropi-c,  and  the  sporting, 
she  introduced  herself  as  "David  Williams" — hoping 
no  Bencher  was  within  hearing  —  said  "  Dare  say  you 
remember    me?     Lady    Feenix's?     Been    much    abroad 
lately  —  really    feel   cjuite   strange   on   an   English   race 
course,"  and  persuaded  him  to  take  her  round  before  the 
great  people  of  the  day  were  all  assembled.     She  was 
shown  the  Royal  pavilion  being  got  ready  for  the  King 
and  Queen,  the  weighing  room  of  the  jockeys,  the  pad- 
dock and  temporary  stables  of  the  horses  that  were  to 
race  that  day.     Here  was  a  celebrated  actress  in  a  mag- 
nificent lace  dress  and  a  superb  hat,  walking  up  and  down 
on  the  sun-burnt,  trodden  turf,  in  a  devil  of  a  temper. 
Her  horse  —  for  with  her  lovers'  money  she  kept  a  racing 
stable  —  had  been  scratched  for  the  race  —  I  really  can't 
tell   you   why,    not   having   been   able  to    study   all   the 
minuticu  of  racing.      [Talking  of  that,  Jiozv  annoying  it 
is  —  or  was  —  when  one  cared  about  things  of  great  mo- 


IMPRISONMENT  251 

ment,  to  take  up  an  evening  newspaper's  last  edition  and 
read  in  large  type  "  Official  Scratchings."  with  a  silly 
algebraic  formula  underneath  about  horses  being  with-, 
drawn  from  some  race,  when  you  thought  it  was  a  bear 
fight  in  the  Cabinet.]  Vivie  gathered  from  her  guide 
that  to-day  would  be  rather  a  special  Derby,  because  it 
did  not  often  happen  that  a  King-Emperor  was  there  to 
see  a  horse  from  his  own  rating  stables  running  in  the 
classic  race. 

Then,  thanking  the  pleasant  soldier-peer  for  his  in- 
formation, Vivie  (David  Williams)  left  him  to  his  duties 
as  equerry  and  member  of  the  Jockey-Club  and  entered 
the  dense  crowd  on  either  side  of  the  race  course.  It  re- 
minded her  just  slightly  of  Frith's  Derby  Day.  There 
were  the  gypsies,  the  jugglers,  the  acrobats,  the  costers 
with  their  provision  barrows ;  the  grooms  and  stable 
hands ;  the  beggars  and  obvious  pick-pockets ;  the  low- 
down  harlots  —  the  high-up  ones  were  already  entering 
the  seats  of  the  Grand  Stand  or  sitting  on  the  four-in- 
hand  coaches  or  in  the  open  landaulettes  and  Silent 
Knights.  But  evidently  the  professional  betting  men 
were  a  new  growth  since  the  mid-nineteenth  century. 
They  were  just  beginning  to  assemble,  wiping  their 
mouths  from  the  oozings  of  the  last  potation ;  some,  the 
aristocrats  of  their  calling,  like  sporting  peers  in  dress 
and  appearance;  others  like  knock-about  actors  on  the 
music-hall  stage.  The  generality  were  remarkably 
similar  to  ordinary  city  men  or  to  the  hansom-cab  drivers 
of  twenty  years  ago. 

In  the  very  front  of  the  crowd  on  the  Grand  Stand 
side,  leaning  with  her  elbows  on  the  wooden  rail,  she  de- 
scried Emily  Davison.  Vivie  edged  and  sidled  through 
the  crowd  and  touched  her  on  the  shoulder.  Emily 
looked  up  with  a  start,  surprised  at  seeing  the  friendly 
face  of  a  young  man,  till  she  recognized  Vivie  by  her 
voice.     "  Dear  Emily,"  said  Vivie,  "  you  look  so  tired. 


252  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Aren't  you  over-trying  your  strength?  I  don't  know 
what  you  have  in  hand,  but  why  not  postpone  your  action 
till  you  are  quite  strong  again?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  stronger  than  I  am  to-day  and  it 
can't  be  postponed,  cost  me  what  it  will,"  was  the  reply, 
while  the  sad  eyes  looked  away  across  the  course. 

"  Well,"  said  Vivie,  "  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I 
was  close  by,  prepared  to  back  you  up  if  need  be.  And 
there  are  others  of  our  Union  about  the  place.  That 
young  man  over  there  talking  to  the  policeman  is  really 

A K though  she  is  supposed  to  be  in  prison. 

Mrs.  Tuke  is  somewhere  about,  Mrs.  Despard  is  on  the 
Grand  Stand,  and  Blanche  Smith  is  selling  The  Suf- 
fragette." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Davison,  turning  round  for 
an  instant,  and  pressing.  Vivie's  hand,  "  Good-bye.  I 
hope  what  I  am  going  to  do  will  be  effectual." 

Vivie  did  not  like  to  prolong  the  talk'  in  case  it  should 
attract  attention.  Individual  action  was  encouraged 
under  the  W.S.P.U.,  and  when  a  member  wished  to  do 
something  on  her  own,  her  comrades  did  not  fuss  with 
advice.     So  Vivie  returned  to  the  Grand  Stand. 

Presently  there  vv'as  the  stir  occasioned  by  the  arrival 
of  the  Royal  personages.  Vivie  noted  with  a  little  dis- 
may that  while  she  was  wearing  a  Homburg  hat  all  the 
men  near  her  wore  the  black  and  glistening  topper  which 
has  become — ^  or  had,  for  the  tyranny  of  custom  has 
lifted  a  little  since  the  War  —  the  conventional  head-gear 
in  which  to  approach  both  God  and  the  King.  There 
was  a  great  raising  of  these  glistening  hats,  there  were 
grave  bows  or  smiling  acknowledgments  from  the  pavil- 
ion. Then  every  one  sat  down  and  the  second  event  was 
run. 

Still  Emily  Wilding  Davison  made  no  sign.  Vivie 
could  just  descry  her,  still  in  the  front  of  the  crowd,  still 


IMPRISONMENT  253 

gazing  out  over  the  course,  pressed  by  the  crowd  against 
the  broad  white  rail. 

3fC  3(*  ^  ^ 

The  race  of  the  day  had  begun.  The  row  of  snicker- 
ing, plunging,  rearing,  and  curvetting  horses  had  dis- 
solved, as  in  a  kaleidoscope,  into  a  bunch,  and  a  pear- 
shaped  formation  with  two  or  three  horses  streaming 
ahead  as  the  stem  of  the  pear.  Then  the  stem  became 
separated  from  the  pear-shaped  mass  by  its  superior 
speed,  and  again  this  vertical  line  of  horses  formed  up 
once  more  horizontally,  leaving  the  mass  still  farther 
behind.  Then  the  horses  seen  from  the  Grand  Stand 
disappeared  —  and  after  a  minute  reappeared  —  three, 
four,  five  —  and  the  bunch  of  them,  swerving  round  Tat- 
tenham  Comer  and  thundering  down  the  incline  towards 
the  winning  post.  .  .  .  The  King's  horse  seemed  to  be 
leading,  another  few  seconds  would  have  brought  it  or 
one  of  its  rivals  past  the  winning  post,  when  ...  a 
slender  figure,  a  woman,  darted  with  equal  swiftness 
from  the  barrier  to  the  middle  of  the  course,  leapt  to  the 
neck  of  the  King's  horse,  and  in  an  instant,  the  horse 
was  down,  kneeling  on  a  crumpled  woman,  and  the 
jockey  was  flying  through  the  air  to  descend  on  hands 
and  knees  practically  unhurt.  The  other  horses  rushed 
by,  miraculously  avoiding  the  prostrate  figures.  Some 
horse  passed  the  winning  post,  a  head  in  front  of  some 
other,  but  no  one  seemed  to  care.  The  race  was  fouled. 
Vivie  noted  thirty  seconds  —  approximately  —  of 
amazed,  horrified  silence.  Then  a  roar  of  mingled  anger, 
horror,  enquiry  went  up  from  the  crowd  of  many  thou- 
sands. "  It's  the  Suffragettes  "  shouted  some  one.  And 
up  to  then  Vivie  had  not  thought  of  connecting  this  un- 
precedented act  wdth  the  purposed  protest  of  Emily  Wild- 
ing Davison.     She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  shouting  to 


254  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

all  who  might  have  tried  to  stop  her  "  I'm  a  friend  of 
the  lady.  I  am  a  doctor  " —  she  didn't  care  what  lie  she 
told  —  she  was  soon  authoritatively  pushing  through  the 
ring  of  police  constables  who  like  warrior  ants  had  sur- 
rounded the  victims  of  the  protest  —  the  shivering, 
trembling  horse,  now  on  its  legs,  the  pitifully  crushed, 
unconscious  woman  —  her  hat  hanging  to  the  tresses  of 
her  hair  by  a  dislodged  hat-pin,  her  thin  face  stained 
with  blood  from  surface  punctures.  The  jockey  was 
being  carried  from  the  course,  still  unconscious,  but  not 
badly  hurt. 

A  great  surgeon  happening  to  be  at  Epsom  Race  course 
on  a  friend's  drag,  had  hurried  to  offer  his  services.  He 
was  examining  the  unconscious  woman  and  striving  very 
gently  to  straighten  and  disentangle  her  crooked  body. 
Presently  there  was  a  respectful  stir  in  the  privileged 
ring,  and  Vivie  was  conscious  by  the  raising  of  hats  that 
the  King  stood  amongst  them  looking  down  on  the  woman 
who  had  offered  up  her  life  before  his  eyes  to  enforce  the 
Woman's  appeal.  He  put  his  enquiries  and  offered  his 
suggestions  in  a  low  voice,  but  Vivie  withdrew,  less  with 
the  fear  that  her  right  to  be  there  and  her  connection  with 
the  tragedy  might  be  questioned,  as  from  some  instinctive 
modesty.  The  occasion  was  too  momentous  for  the  pres- 
ence of  a  supernumerary.  Emily  Wilding  Davison 
should  have  her  audience  o-f  her  Sovereign  without 
spectators. 

Returning  with  a  blanched  face  to  the  seething  crowd, 
and  presently  to  the  Grand  Stand.  Vivie's  mood  altered 
from  awe  to  anger.  The  "  bookies  "  were  beside  them- 
selves with  fury.  She  noted  the  more  frequent  of  the 
nouns  and  adjectives  they  applied  to  the  dying  woman 
for  having  spoilt  the  Derby  of  1913,  but  although  she 
went  to  the  trouble,  in  framing  her  indictment  of  the 
Turf,  of  writing  down  these  phrases,  my  jury  of  matrons 
opposes  itself  to  their  appearance  here,  though  I  am  all 


IMPRISONMENT  255 

for  realism  and  completeness  of  statement.  After  con- 
versing briefly  and  in  a  lowered  voice  with  such  Suf- 
fragettes as  gathered  round  her,  so  that  this  one  could 
carry  the  news  to  town  and  that  one  hie  to  communicate 
with  Miss  Davison's  relations,  Vivie  —  recklessly  calling 
herself  to  any  police  questioner,  "  David  Williams  "  and 
eliciting  "  Yes,  sir,  I  have  seen  you  once  or  twice  in  the 
courts,"  reached  once  more  the  Grand  Stand  with  its 
knots  of  shocked,  puzzled,  indignant,  cynical,  consternated 
men  and  women.  Most  of  them  spoke  in  low  tones;  but 
one  —  a  blond  Jew  of  middle  age  —  was  raving  in  un- 
controlled anger,  careless  of  what  he  said  or  of  who 
heard  him.  He  was  short  of  stature  with  protruding 
bloodshot  eyes,  an  undulating  nose,  slightly  prognathous 
muzzle  and  full  lips,  and  a  harsh  red  moustache  which 
enhanced  the  prognathism.  His  silk  hat  tilted  back 
showed  a  great  bald  forehead,  in  which  angry,  bluish 
veins  stood  out  like  swollen  earth  worms.  "  Those  Suf- 
fragettes!" he  was  shouting  or  rather  shrieking  in  a 
nasal  whine,  "  if  I  had  7ny  way,  I'd  lay  'em  out  along  the 

course  and  have  'em by .     The 's !  " 

The  shocked  auditor}^  around  him  drew  away.     Vivie 

gathered  he  was  Mr.  well,  perhaps  I  had  better  not 

give  his  name,^  even  in  a  disguised  form.  He  had  had 
a  chequered  career  in  South  America  —  Mexico  oil,  Peru- 
vian rubber,  Buenos  Aires  railways,  and  a  corner  in 
Argentine  beef  —  but  had  become  exceedingly  rich,  a 
fortune  perhaps  of  twenty  millions.  He  had  given  five 
times  more  than  any  other  aspirant  in  benefactions  to 
charities  and  to  the  party  chest  of  the  dominant  Party, 
but  the  authorities  dared  not  reward  him  with  a  baronetcy 
because  of  the  stories  of  his  early  life  which  had  to  be 
fought  out  in  libel  cases  with  Baxendale  Strangeways 
and  others.  But  he  had  won  through  these  libel  cases, 
and  now  devoted  his  vast  wealth  to  improving  our  breed 

1  He  died  in  1917.     My  jury  of  matrons  has  excised  his  phrases. 


256  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

of  horses  by  racin^^  at  Newmarket,  Epsom,  Doncaster, 
Gatwick,  Sandown  and  Brighton.  Racing  had,  in  fact, 
become  to  him  what  Auction  Bridge  was  to  the  Society 
gamblers  of  those  days,  only  instead  of  losing  and  win- 
ning tens  and  hundreds  of  pounds,  his  fluctuations  in 
gains  and  losses  were  in  thousands,  generally  with  a  sum- 
ming up  on  the  right  side  of  the  annual  account.  But 
whether  on  the  Turf,  at  the  billiard  table,  or  in  the  stock 
market  he  was  or  had  become  a  bad  loser.  He  lost  his 
temper  at  the  same  time.  On  this  occasion  Miss  Dav- 
ison's suicide  or  martyrdom  would  leave  him  perhaps  on 
the  wrong  side  in  making  up  his  day's  book  to  the  extent 
of  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  Viewed  in  the  right  propor- 
tion it  would  be  equivalent  to  our  —  you  and  me  —  hav- 
ing given  a  florin  to  a  newspaper  boy  as  the  train  was 
moving,  instead  of  a  penny.  But  no  doubt  her  un- 
fortunate impulse  had  spoiled  the  day  for  him  in  other 
ways,  upset  schemes  that  were  bound  up  with  the  win- 
ning of  the  King's  horse.  Yet  his  outburst  and  the 
shocking  language  he  applied  to  the  Suffrage  movement 
made  history:  for  they  fixed  on  him  Vivie's  attention 
when  she  was  looking  out  for  some  one  or  something 
on  whom  to  avenge  the  loss  of  a  comrade. 

She  forthwith  set  out  for  London  and  wrote  up  the 

dossier  of  Mr. .     In  the  secret  list  of  buildings  which 

were  to  be  destroyed  by  fire  or  bombs,  with  as  little  risk 
as  possible  to  human  or  animal  life,  she  noted  down  the 

racing  stables,  trainers'  houses  and  palaces  of  Mr.  

at  Newmarket,  Epsom,  the  Devil's  Dyke,  and  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Doncaster. 

Rossiter  and  Vivie  met  for  the  first  time  for  a  year 
at  Emily  Davison's  funeral.  Rossiter  had  been  pro- 
foundly moved  at  her  self-sacrifice;  she  was  moreover 
a  Northimibrian  and  a  distant  kinswoman.  Perhaps, 
also,  he  felt  that  he  had  of  late  been  a  little  lukewarm 


IMPRISONMENT  257 

over  the  Suffrage  agitation.  His  motor-brougham,  con- 
taining with  himself  the  very  unwilhng  Airs.  Rossiter, 
followed  in  the  procession  of  six  thousand  persons  which 
escorted  the  coffin  across  London  from  Victoria  station 
to  King's  Cross.  A  halt  was  made  outside  a  church  in 
Bloomsbury  where  a  funeral  service  was  read. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  thought  the  whole  thing  profoundly  im- 
proper. In  the  first  place  the  young  woman  had  com- 
mitted suicide,  which  of  itself  was  a  crime  and  disentitled 
you  to  Christian  burial ;  in  the  second  she  had  died  in  a 
way  greatly  to  inconvenience  persons  in  the  highest  so- 
ciety; in  the  third  she  had  always  understood  that  racing 
was  a  perfectly  proper  pastime  for  gentlemen ;  and  in 
the  fourth  this  incident,  touching  Michael  through  his 
relationship  with  the  deceased,  would  bring  him  again  in 
contact  with  that  Vivie  Warren  —  there  she  was  and 
there  v/as  he,  in  close  converse  —  and  make  a  knighthood 
from  a  nearly  relenting  Government  well-nigh  impossible. 
Rossiter,  after  the  service,  had  begged  Vivie  to  come  back 
to  tea  with  them  in  Park  Crescent  and  give  Mrs.  Rossiter 
and  himself  a  full  account  of  what  took  place  at  Epsom. 
Vivie  had  declined.  She  had  not  even  spoken  to  the 
angry  little  woman,  who  had  refused  to  attend  the  service 
and  had  sat  fuming  all  through  the  half  hour  in  her 
electric  brougham,  wishing  she  had  the  courage  and  de- 
termination to  order  the  chauffeur  to  turn  round  and  run 
her  home,  leaving  the  Professor  to  follow  in  a  taxi.  But 
perhaps  if  she  did  that,  'he  would  go  off  somewhere  with 
that  Warren  woman. 

Michael  presently  re-entered  the  carriage  and  in  silence 
they  returned  to  Portland  Place. 

The  next  day  his  wife  meeting  one  of  her  Anti-Suf- 
frage friends  said: 

"  Er  —  supposing  —  er  —  you  had  got  to  know  some- 
thing about  these  dreadful  militant  women,  something 
which  might  help  the  police,  yet  didn't  want  to  get  too 


258  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

much  mixed  up  with  it  yourself,  and  certainly  not  bring 
your  husband  into  it  —  the  Professor  thoroughly  dis- 
approves of  mihtancy,  even  though  he  may  have  foolish 
ideas  about  the  Vote  —  er  —  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  It's  part  of  a  letter." 

"  Well,  I  should  just  send  it  to  the  Criminal  Investi- 
gation Department,  New  Scotland  Yard,  and  tell  them 
under  what  circumstances  it  came  into  your  possession. 
You  needn't  even  give  your  name  or  address.  They'll 
soon  know  whether  it's  any  use  or  not."  So  Mrs., 
Rossiter  took  from  her  desk  that  scrap  of  partly  burnt 
paper  with  the  typewritten  words  on  it  which  she  had 
picked  out  of  the  grate  two  and  a  half  years  before, 
and  posted  it  to  the  Criminal  Investigation  Department, 
with  the  intimation  that  this  fragment  had  come  into 
the  possession  of  the  sender  some  time  ago,  and  seemed 
to  refer  to  a  militant  Suffragist  who  called  herself 
"  Vivie  Warren  "  or  "  David  Williams,"  and  perhaps  it 
might  be  of  some  assistance  to  the  authorities  in  tracking 
down  these  dangerous  women  who  now  stuck  at  noth- 
ing. She  posted  the  letter  with  her  own  hands  in  the 
North  West  district.  Park  Crescent,  Portland  Place, 
she  always  reflected,  was  still  in  the  Western  district, 
though  it  lay  perilously  near  the  North  West  border 
line,  beyond  which  Lady  Jeune  had  once  written,  no 
one  in  Society  thought  of  living.  This  was  a  dictum 
that  at  one  time  had  occasioned  Mrs.  Rossiter  consider- 
able perturbation.  It  was  alarming  to  think  that  by 
crossing  the  Marylebone  Road  or  migrating  to  Cam- 
bridge Terrace  you  had  passed  out  of  Society. 

It  took  the  police  a  deuce  of  a  time  —  two  months  — 
to  make  use  effectively  of  the  information  contained  in 
Mrs.  Rossiter's  scrap  of  burnt  paper;  though  the 
statement  of  their  anonymous  correspondent  that  Vivie 


IMPRISONMENT  259 

Warren  and  David  W^illiams  were  probably  the  same 
person  helped  to  locate  Mr.  Michaelis's  office.  It  was 
soon  ascertained  that  Miss  Vivien  Warren,  well  known 
as  a  sort  of  Society  speaker  on  Suffrage,  lived  at  the 
Lilacs  in  Victoria  Road,  Kensington.  But  when  a  plain- 
clothes policeman  called  at  Victoria  Road  he  was  only 
told  by  the  Suffragette  caretaker  (whose  mother  now 
usually  lived  with  her  to  console  her  for  her  mistress's 
frequent  absences)  that  Miss  Warren  was  away  just 
then,  had  recently  been  much  away  from  home,  prob- 
ably abroad  where  her  mother  lived.  (Here  the  en- 
quirer registered  a  mental  note:  Miss  Warren  has  a 
mother  living  abroad:  could  it  be  the  Mrs.  Warren?). 
Polite  and  respectful  calls  on  Lady  Feenix,  Lady  Maud 
Parry,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  —  Vivie's  known  associates 
—  elicted  no  information,  till  on  leaving  the  last-named 
lady's  house  in  Kensington  Square  the  detective  heard 
Colonel  Armstrong  come  in  from  the  garden  and  call 
out  "  Ho-no-ria."     "  ' — ria,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  '  -ria 

kept  the  keys,  and  now '     Honoria.     W'hat  was  her 

name  before  she  married  Colonel  Armstrong?  —  why 
— "  He  soon  found  out  — "  Fraser."  "  Wasn't  there 
once  a  firm,  Fraser  and  Warren,  which  set  up  to  be  some 
new  dodge  for  establishing  women  in  a  city  career  ?  — 
Accountancy?  Stockbroking ?  Where  did  Fraser  and 
Warren  have  their  office?  Fifth  floor  of  Midland  Insur- 
ance office  in  Chancery  Lane.  What  was  that  building 
now  called?     No.  88-90."     Done. 

These  two  sentences  run  over  a  period  of  —  what  did 
I  say  ?  Two  months  ?  —  in  their  deductions  and  guesses 
and  consultation  of  out-of-date  telephone  directories. 
But  on  one  day  in  September,  19 13,  two  plain-clothes 
policemen  made  their  way  up  to  the  fifth  floor  of  88-90 
Chancery  Lane  and  found  the  outer  door  of  Mr. 
Michaelis's  office  locked  and  a  notice  board  on  it  saying 
"  Absent  till  Monday."     Not  deterred  by  this,  they  forced 


26o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

open  the  door  —  to  the  thrilling  interest  of  a  spectacled 
typewriteress,  who  had  no  business  on  that  landing  at 
all,  but  she  usually  made  assignations  there  with  the  lift 
man.  And  on  the  writing  table  in  the  outer  office  they 
found  a  note  addressed  to  Miss  Annie  Kenney,  which  said 
inside:  "  Dear  Annie.  If  you  should  chance  to  look  in 
between  your  many  imprisonments  and  find  me  out,  you 
will  know  I  am  away  on  the  Firm's  business,  livening 
up    the    racing    establishments    of    the    Right    Honble 

Sir ,    Bart.     Bart.     No  one  knows  anything 

about  this  at  No.  94." 

(This  note  was  purely  unnecessary  —  a  bit  of  swagger 
perhaps,  lest  Miss  Kenney  should  think  Vivie  never  did 
anything  dangerous,  but  only  planned  dangerous  es- 
capades for  others.  Like  the  long  letter  of  Vivie  to 
Michael  Rossiter,  written  on  the  last  day  of  December, 
19 10,  which  he  had  imperfectly  destroyed,  it  was  a 
reminder  of  that  all-too-true  saying:  "  Litera  scripta 
manet.") 

If  the  outer  door  of  Michaelis's  office  was  locked  how 
could  Miss  Kenney  be  expected  to  call  and  find  this  note 
awaiting  her?  Why,  here  came  in  the  "  No.  94  "  of  the 
scrap  of  paper.  There  was  an  over-the-roofs  communi- 
cation between  the  block  of  88-90  and  House  No.  94. 
The  policemen  in  fact  found  that  the  large  casement  of 
the  partners'  room  was  only  pulled  to,  so  that  it  was 
easily  opened  from  the  outside.  From  the  parapet  they 
passed  to  the  fire-escapes  and  through  the  labyrinth  of 
chimney  stacks  to  a  similar  window  leading  into  the  top 
storey  of  94,  the  office  of  Mr.  Algernon  Mainwaring, 
Hygienic  Corset-maker.  This  office  at  the  time  of  their 
unexpected  entry  was  fairly  full  of  Suffragettes  planning 
all  sorts  of  direful  things.  So  the  plain-clothes  police- 
men had  a  rare  haul  that  day  and  certainly  had  Mrs. 
Rossiter  to  thank  for  rising  to  be  Inspectors  and  re- 
ceiving some  modest  Order  of  later  days.     It  was  about 


IMPRISONMENT  261 

the  worst  blow  the  W.S.P.U.  had;  before  the  outbreak 
of  War  turned  suddenly  the  revolting  women  into  the 
stanchest  patriots  and  the  right  hands  of  muddling  min- 
isters. For  in  addition  to  many  a  rich  find  in  No.  94 
and  a  dozen  captives  caught  red-handed  in  making  mock 
of  the  Authorities,  the  plain-clothes  policemen  made 
themselves  thoroughly  at  home  in  Mr.  Michaelis's  quar- 
ters till  the  following  Monday.  And  when  in  the  fore- 
noon of  that  day,  Mr.  Michaelis  entered  his  rooms, 
puzzled  and  perturbed  at  finding  the  outer  door  ajar,  he 
was  promptly  arrested  on  a  multiform  charge  of  arson 
,  .  .  and  on  being  conveyed  to  a  police  station  and 
searched  he  was  found  to  be  Miss  Vivien  Warren. 

At  intervals  in  the  summer  and  early  autumn  of  19 13 
the  male  section  of  the  public  had  been  horrified  and 
scandalized  at  the  destruction  going  on  in  racing  estab- 
lishments, particularly  those  of  Sir  George  Crofts  and  of 
a  well-known  South  American  millionaire,  whose  dis- 
tinguished services  to  British  commerce  and  immense 
donations  to  Hospitals  and  Homes  would  probably  be 
rewarded  by  a  grateful  government.  If  these  outrages 
were  not  stopped,  horse-racing  and  race-horse  breeding 
must  come  to  a  stand-still ;  and  we  leave  our  readers  to 
realize  what  that  would  mean!  There  would  be  no 
horses  for  the  plough  or  the  gig,  or  the  artillery  gun- 
carriage  ;  no  —  er  —  fox-hunting,  and  without  fox-hunt- 
ing and  steeple-chasing  and  point-to-point  races  you  could 
have  no  cavalry  and  without  cavalry  you  could  have  no 
army.  If  we  neglected  blood  stock  we  would  deal  the 
farmer  a  deadly  blow,  we  should  —  er 

You  know  the  sort  of  argument?  Reduced  to  its  es- 
sentials it  is  simply  this :  —  That  a  few  rich  people  are 
fond  of  gambling  and  fond  of  the  excitement  that  is 
concentrated  in  the  few  minutes  of  the  horse  race. 
Some  others,  not  so  rich,  believe  that  by  combining 
horse-racing  with  a  certain  amount  of  cunning  and  bold 


262  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

cheating  they  can  make  a  great  deal  of  money.  A  few 
speculators  have  invested  funds  in  spaces  of  open  turf, 
and  turn  these  spaces  into  race  courses.  Having  no 
alternative,  no  safer  method  of  gambling  offered  them, 
and  being  as  fond  of  gambling  as  other  peoples  of  the 
world,  the  men  of  the  labouring  classes  and  a  few  of 
their  women,  the  publicans  and  their  frequenters,  army 
officers,  farmers,  and  women  of  uncertain  virtue  stake 
their  money  on  horses  they  have  never  seen,  who  may 
not  even  exist,  and  thus  keep  the  industry  going.  And 
the  chevaliers  of  this  "  industry,"  the  go-betweens,  the 
parasites  of  this  sport,  are  the  twelve  thousand  profes- 
sional book-makers  and  racing  touts. 

Somehow  the  Turf  has  during  the  last  hundred  years, 
together  with  its  allies  the  Distillers  and  Brewers,  the 
Licensed  Victuallers  and  the  Press  that  is  supported  by 
these  agencies,  acquired  such  a  hold  over  the  Govern- 
ment Departments,  the  Labour  Party,  the  Conservative 
Party,  and  Liberal  politicians  who  are  descended  from 
county  families,  that  it  has  more  interest  with  those  who 
govern  us  than  the  Church,  the  Nonconformist  Con- 
science, the  County  Palatine  of  Lancaster  or  any  other 
body  of  corporate  opinion.  So  that  when  in  September, 
1913,  representatives  of  the  Turf  (and  no  doubt  of  the 
Trade  Unions)  went  to  the  Home  Secretary  in  reference 
to  the  burning  and  bombing  of  racing  stables,  trainers' 
houses.  Grand  Stands  and  the  residences  of  racing  poten- 
tates, and  said  "  Look  here !  This  has  GOT  TO  STOP," 
the  Home  Secretary  and  the  Cabinet  knew  they  were  up 
against  no  ordinary  crisis.  At  the  same  time  Sir  Ed- 
ward Carson,  the  Marquis  of  Londonderry,  the  Duke  of 
Abercorn,  Mr.  F.  E.  Smith  and  nearly  a  third  of  the 
Colonels  in  the  British  Army  of  Ulster  descent  were 
actively  organizing  armed  resistance  to  any  measure  of 
Home  Rule ;  while  Keltiberian  Ireland  was  setting  up 
the  Irish  Volunteers  to  start  a  Home  Rule  insurrection. 


IMPRISONMENT  263 

You  can  therefore  imagine  for  yourselves  the  mental 
irritability  of  members  of  the  Liberal  Cabinet  in  the 
autumn  of  the  sinister  year  191 3.  I  have  been  told  that 
there  were  days  at  the  House  of  Commons  during  the 
Autumn  Session  of  that  year  when  the  leading  ministers 
would  just  shut  themselves  up  in  their  Private  Rooms  and 
scream  on  end  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ...  Of  course 
an  exaggeration,  a  sorry  jest. 

In  retrospect  one  feels  almost  sorry  for  them :  the 
Great  War  must  have  come  almost  as  a  relief.  Not  one 
of  them  was  what  you  would  call  a  bad  man.  Some 
of  them  suffered  over  forcible  feeding  and  the  Cat  and 
Mouse  Act  as  acutely  as  does  the  loving  father  or  mother 
who  says  to  the  recently  spanked  child,  "  You  knozv,  dear, 
it  hurts  me  almost  as  much  as  it  hurts  you."  If  one  met 
them  out  at  dinner  parties,  or  in  an  express  train  which 
they  could  not  stop  by  pulling  the  communication  cord, 
and  sympathized  with  their  dilemma,  they  would  ask 
plaintively  zvhat  they  could  do.  They  could  not  yield 
to  violence  and  anarchy ;  yet  they  could  not  let  women 
die  in  prison. 

Of  course  the  answer  was  this,  but  it  was  one  they 
waved  aside :  "  Dissolve  Parliament  and  go  to  the  Coun- 
try on  the  one  question  of  Votes  for  Women.  If  the 
Country  returns  a  great  majority  favourable  to  that 
concession,  you  must  bring  in  a  Bill  for  eliminating  the 
sex  distinction  in  the  suffrage.  If  on  the  other  hand, 
the  Country  votes  against  the  reform,  then  you  must  leave 
it  to  the  women  to  make  a  male  electorate  change  its 
mind.  And  meantime  if  men  and  women,  to  enforce 
some  principle,  rioted  and  were  sent  to  prison  for  it,  and 
then  started  to  abstain  from  food  and  drink,  why  they 
must  please  themselves  and  die  if  they  wanted  to." 

But  this  was  just  what  the  Liberal  Ministry  of  those 
days  would  not  do ;  at  all  costs  they  must  stick  to  office, 
emoluments,   patronage,   the  bestowal   of   honours,   and 


264  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  control  of  foreign  policy.  They  clung  to  power,  in 
fact,  at  all  costs;  even  inconsistency  with  the  bedrock 
principle  of  Liberalism :  no  Taxation  without  Represen- 
tation. 

It  was  decided  in  the  innermost  arcana  of  the  Home 
Office  that  an  example  should  be  made  of  Vivie.  They 
had  evidently  in  her  got  hold  of  something  far  more 
dangerous  than  a  Pankhurst  or  a  Pethick  Lawrence,  a 
Constance  Lytton  or  an  Emily  Davison.  The  very  prob- 
able story  —  though  the  Benchers  were  loth  to  take 
it  up  —  that  she  had  actually  in  man's  garb  passed  for 
the  Bar  and  pleaded  successfully  before  juries,  appalled 
some  of  the  lawyer-ministers  by  its  revolutionary  audac- 
ity. They  might  not  be  able  to  punish  her  on  that 
count  or  on  several  others  of  the  misdemeanours  imputed 
to  her ;  but  they  had  got  her,  for  sure,  on  Arson ;  and 
on  the  arson  not  of  suburban  churches,  which  occurred 
sometimes  at  Peckham  or  in  the  suburbs  of  Birmingham 
and  made  people  laugh  a  little  in  the  trains  coming  up 
to  town  and  say  there  were  far  too  many  churches,  seemed 
to  them;  but  the  burning  down  of  racing  establishments. 
That  was  Bolshevism,  indeed,  they  would  have  said,  had 
they  been  able  to  project  their  minds  five  years  ahead. 
Being  only  in  19 13  they  called  Vivie  by  the  enfeebled 
term  of  Anarchist,  the  word  applied  by  Punch  to  Mr. 
John  Burns  in  1888  for  wishing  to  address  the  PubHc  in 
Trafalgar  Square. 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Vivie's  trial  should  take  place  in 
October  at  the  Old  Bailey  and  that  a  judge  should  try 
her  who  was  quite  certain  he  had  never  stayed  at  a 
Warren  Hotel ;  who  would  be  careful  to  keep  great  names 
out  of  court;  and  restrain  counsel  from  dragging  any- 
thing in  to  the  simple  and  provable  charge  of  arson  which 
might  give  Miss  Warren  a  chance  to  say  something  those 
beastly  newspapers  would  get  hold  of. 


IMPRISONMENT  265 

I  am  not  going  to  give  you  the  full  story  of  Vivie's 
trial.  I  have  got  so  much  else  to  say  about  her,  before 
I  can  leave  her  in  a  quiet  backwater  of  middle  age,  that 
this  must  be  a  story  which  has  gaps  to  be  filled  up  by 
the  reader's  imagination.  You  can,  besides,  read  for 
yourself  elsewhere —  for  this  is  a  thinly  veiled  chronicle 
of  real  events  —  how  she  was  charged,  and  how  the 
magistrate  refused  bail  though  it  was  offered  in  large 
amounts  by  Rossiter  and  Praed,  the  latter  with  Mrs. 
Warren's  purse  behind  him.  How  she  was  first  lodged 
in  Brixton  Prison  and  at  length  appeared  in  the  dock 
at  the  Old  Bailey  before  a  Court  that  might  have  been 
set  for  a  Cinematograph.  There  was  a  judge  with  a  full- 
bottomed  wig,  a  scarlet  'and  ermine  vesture,  there  was  a 
jury  of  prosperous  shopkeepers,  retired  half  pay  officers, 
a  hotelkeeper  or  two,  a  journalist,  an  architect,  and  a 
builder.  A  very  celebrated  King's  Counsel  prosecuted 
—  the  Cabinet  thus  said  to  the  Racing  World  "  We've 
done  all  we  can  " — and  Vivie  defended  herself  with  the 
aid  of  a  clever  solicitor  whom  Bertie  Adams  had  found 
for  her. 

From  the  very  moment  of  her  arrest,  Bertie  Adams  had 
refused  —  even  though  they  took  away  his  salary  —  to 
think  of  anything  but  Vivie's  trial  and  how  she  might 
issue  from  it  triumphant.  He  must  have  lost  a  stone  in 
weight.  Pie  was  ready  to  give  evidence  himself,  though 
he  was  really  quite  unconcerned  with  the  offences  for 
which  Vivie  was  on  trial ;  prepared  to  swear  to  anything ; 
to  swear  he  arranged  the  conflagrations ;  that  Miss  War- 
ren had  really  been  in  London  when  witness  had  seen  her 
purchasing  explosives  at  Newmarket  (both  stories  were 
equally  untrue).  Bertie  Adams  only  asked  to  be  allowed 
to  perjure  himself  to  the  tune  of  Five  Years'  penal  servi- 
tude if  that  would  set  Vivie  free.  Yet  at  a  word  or  a 
look  from  her  he  became  manageable. 

The  Attorney  General  of  course  began  something  like 


266  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

this.  "  I  am  very  anxious  to  impress  on  you,"  he  said, 
addressing  the  jury,  "  that  from  the  moment  we  begin 
to  deal  with  the  facts  of  this  case,  all  cjuestions  of  whether 
a  woman  is  entitled  to  the  Parliamentary  franchise, 
whether  she  should  have  the  same  right  of  franchise  as  a 
man  are  matters  which  in  no  sense  are  involved  in  the 
trial  of  this  issue.  All  you  have  to  decide  is  whether  the 
prisoner  in  the  dock  committed  or  procured  and  assisted 
others  to  commit  the  very  serious  acts  of  arson  of  which 
she  is  accused.  .  .  ." 

Nevertheless  he  or  the  hounds  he  kept  in  leash,  the 
lesser  counsel,  sought  subtly  to  prejudice  the  jury's  mind 
against  Vivie  by  dragging  in  her  parentage  and  the  ec- 
centricities of  her  own  career.     As  thus : — 

Counsel  for  the  prosecution:  "  We  have  in  you  the 
mainspring  of  this  rebellious  movement.  .  .  ." 

Vivie:  "  Have  you?  " 

Counsel:  "  Are  you  not  the  daughter  of  the  notorious 
Mrs.  Warren?" 

Vivie:  "  My  mother's  name  certainly  is  Warren.  For 
what  is  she  notorious?  " 

Counsel:  "  Well  —  er  —  for  being  associated  abroad 
with  —  er  —  a  certain  type  of  hotel  synonymous  with  a 
disorderly  house " 

Vivie:  "  Indeed?  Have  you  tried  them?  My  mother 
has  managed  the  hotels  of  an  English  Company  abroad 
till  she  retired  altogether  from  the  management  some 
years  ago.  It  was  a  Company  in  which  Sir  George 
Crofts . " 

Judge,  interposing :  "  We  need  not  go  into  that  —  I 
think  the  Counsel  for  the  prosecution  is  not  entitled  to 
ask  such  questions." 

Counsel:  "  I  submit,  Me  Lud,  that  it  is  germane  to  my 
case  that  the  prisoner's  upbringing  might  have " 

Vivie:  "  I  am  quite  willing  to  give  you  all  the  informa- 
tion I  possess  as  to  my  upbringing.     My  mother  who  has 


IMPRISONAIENT  -        267 

resided  mainly  at  Brussels  for  many  years  preferred  that 
I  should  be  educated  in  England.  I  was  placed  at  well- 
known  boarding  schools  till  I  was  old  enough  to  enter 
Newnham.  I  passed  as  a  Third  Wrangler  at  Cambridge 
and  then  joined  the  firm  of  Eraser  and  Warren.  As  you 
seem  so  interested  in  my  relations,  I  might  inform  you 
that  I  have  not  many.  My  mother's  sister,  Mrs.  Burstall, 
the  widow  of  Canon  Burstall,  resides  at  Winchester;  my 
grandfather,  Lieutenant  Warren,  was  killed  in  the  Crimea 
—  or  more  likely  died  of  neglected  wounds  owing  to  the 
shamefully  misconducted,  man-conducted  Army  Medical 
Service  of  those  days.  My  mother  in  early  days  was  bet- 
ter known  as  Miss  Kate  Vavasour.  She  was  the  intimate 
friend  of  a  celebrated  barrister  who " 

Judge,  intervening :  "  We  have  had  enough  of  this  dis- 
cursive evidence  which  really  does  not  bear  on  the  case 
at  all.  I  must  ask  the  prosecuting  counsel  to  keep  to 
the  point  and  not  waste  the  time  of  the  court." 

Prosecuting  Counsel  (who  has  meantime  received  three 
or  four  energetic  notes  from  his  leader,  begging  him  to 
remember  his  instructions  and  not  to  be  an  ass)  :  "  Very 
good  M'Lud."  (To  Vivie)  "  Do  you  know  Mr.  David 
Vavasour  Williams,  a  barrister?  " 

Vivie:  "  I  have  heard  of  him." 

Counsel:  "  Have  you  spoken  of  him  as  your  cousin?  " 

Vivie:  "  I  may  have  done.  He  is  closely  related  to 
me." 

Counsel:  "  I  put  it  to  you  that  you  are  David  Williams, 
or  at  any  rate  that  you  have  posed  as  being  that  person." 

Jiuigc,  interposing  with  a  weary  air:  "  Who  is  David 
Williams?" 

Counsel:  "  Well  —  er  —  a  member  of  the  Bar  —  well 
known  in  the  criminal  courts  —  Shillito  case " 

Judge:  "  Really?     I  had  not  heard  of  him.     Proceed." 

Counsel  (to  Vivie)  :  "  You  heard  my  questions?  " 

Vivie:  "  I  have  never  posed  as  being  other  than  what 


268  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

I  am,  a  woman  much  interested  in  claiming  the  Parlia- 
mentary Franchise  for  Women;  and  I  do  not  see  what 
these  questions  have  to  do  with  my  indictment,  which  is 
a  charge  of  arson.  You  introduce  all  manner  of  irrele- 
vant matter " 

Counsel:  "  You  decline  to  answer  my  questions  ?  " 
(Vivie  turns  her  head  away.) 

Judge,  to  Counsel :  "  I  do  not  quite  see  the  bearing 
of  your  enquiries." 

Counsel:  "  Why,  Me  Lud,  it  is  common  talk  that  pris- 
oner is  the  well-known  barrister,  David  Vavasour  Wil- 
liams; that  in  this  disguise  and  as  a  pretended  man  she 
passed  the  necessary  examinations  and  was  called  to  the 

Bar,  and " 

Judge:  "  But  what  bearing  has  this  on  the  present 
charge,  which  is  one  of  Arson?  " 

Counsel:  "  I  was  endeavouring  by  my  examination  to 
show  that  the  prisoner  has  often  and  successfully  passed 
as  a  man,  and  that  the  evidence  of  witnesses  who  affirmed 
that  they  only  saw  a  young  man  at  or  near  the  scene  of 
these  incendiary  fires,  that  a  young  man,  supposed  to  have 
set  the  stables  alight,  once  dashed  in  and  rescued  two 
horses  which  had  been  overlooked,  might  well  have  been 
the  prisoner  who  is  alleged  to  have  committed  most  of 

these  crimes  in  man's  apparel " 

Judge:  "  I  see."  (To  Vivie)  "  Are  you  David  Vava- 
sour Williams?  " 

Vivie:  "  Obviously  not,  my  Lord.  My  name  is 
Vivien  Warren  and  my  sex  is  feminine." 

Judge,  to  Counsel :  "  Well,  proceed  with  your  examina- 
tion  "  (But  here  the  Leader  of  the  prosecution  takes 

up  the  role  and  brushes  his  junior  on  one  side). 

Vivie  of  course  was  convicted.  The  case  was  plain 
from  the  start,  as  to  her  guilt  in  having  organized  and 
carried  out  the  destruction  of  several  great  Racing  estab- 


IMPRISONMENT  269 

lishments  or  buildings  connected  with  racing".  There 
had  been  no  loss  of  life,  but  great  damage  to  property  — 
perhaps  two  or  three  hundred  thousand  pounds,  and  a 
serious  interruption  in  the  racing  fixtures  of  the  late  sum- 
mer and  early  autumn.  The  jury  took  note  that  on  one 
occasion  the  prisoner  in  the  guise  of  a  young  man  had 
personally  carried  out  the  rescue  of  two  endangered 
horses ;  and  added  a  faintly-worded  recommendation  to 
mercy,  seeing  that  the  incentive  to  the  crimes  was  political 
passion. 

But  the  judge  put  this  on  one  side.  In  passing  sen- 
tence he  said :  "  It  is  my  duty,  Vivien  Warren,  to  inflict 
what  in  my  opinion  is  a  suitable  and  adequate  sentence 
for  the  crime  of  which  you  have  been  nTost  properly 
convicted.  I  must  point  out  to  you  that  whatever  may 
have  been  your  motives,  your  deeds  have  been  truly 
wicked  because  they  have  exposed  hard-working  people 
who  had  done  you  no  wrong  to  the  danger  of  being  burnt, 
maimed  or  killed,  or  at  the  least  to  the  loss  of  employment. 
You  have  destroyed  property  of  great  value  belonging  to 
persons  in  no  way  concerned  with  the  granting  or  with- 
holding of  the  rights  you  claim  for  women.  In  addition, 
you  have  for  some  time  past  been  luring  other  people  — 
young  men  and  young  women  —  to  the  committal  of 
crime  as  your  assistants  or  associates.  I  cannot  regard 
your  case  as  having  any  political  justification  or  standing, 
or  as  being  susceptible  of  any  mitigation  by  the  recom- 
mendation of  the  jury.  The  least  sentence  I  can  pass 
upon  you  is  a  sentence  of  Three  years'  penal  servitude." 

Vivie  took  the  blow  without  flinching  and  merely  bowed 
to  the  judge.  There  was  the  usual  "  sensation  in  Court." 
Women's  voices  were  heard  saying  "Shame!" 
"Shame!"  "Three  cheers  for  Vivie  Warren,"  and  a 
slightly  ironical  "  Three  cheers  for  David  Whatyoumay- 
callem  Williams."  The  judge  uttered  the  usual  unavail- 
ing threats  of  prison  for  those  who  profaned  the  majesty 


2/0  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

of  the  Court;  Honoria,  Rossiter,  Praed  (in  tears), 
Bertie  Adams,  looking  white  and  ill,  all  the  noted  Suf- 
fragists who  were  out  of  prison  for  the  time  being  and 
could  obtain  admittance  to  the  Court,  crowded  round 
Vivie  before  the  wardresses  led  her  away  from  the  dock, 
assuring  her  they  would  move  Heaven  and  Earth,  first 
to  get  the  sentence  mitigated,  and  secondly  to  have  her 
removed  to  the  First  Division. 

But  on  both  points  the  Government  proved  adamant. 
An  interview  between  Rossiter  and  the  Home  Secretary 
nearly  ended  in  a  personal  assault.  All  the  officials 
concerned  refused  to  see  Honoria,  who  almost  had  a 
serious  quarrel  with  her  husband,  the  latter  averring 
that  Vivien  Warren  had  only  got  what  she  asked  for. 
Vivien  was  therefore  taken  to  Holloway  to  serve  her  sen- 
tence as  a  common  felon. 

"  Didn't  she  hunger-strike  to  force  the  Authorities  to 
accord  her  better  prison  treatment?"  She  did.  But 
she  was  very  soon,  and  with  extra  business-like  brutality, 
forcibly  fed ;  and  that  and  the  previous  starvation  made 
her  so  ill  that  she  spent  weeks  in  hospital.  Here  it  was 
very  plainly  hinted  to  her  that  between  hunger-striking 
and  forcible  feeding  she  might  very  soon  die ;  and  that 
in  her  case  the  Government  were  prepared  to  stand  the 
racket.  Moreover  she  heard  by  some  intended  channel 
about  this  time  that  scores  of  imprisoned  suffragists  were 
hunger-striking  to  secure  her  better  treatment  and  were 
endangering  if  not  their  lives  at  any  rate  their  future 
health  and  validity.  So  she  conveyed  them  an  earnest 
message  —  and  was  granted  facilities  to  do  so  —  implor- 
ing them  to  do  nothing  more  on  her  account ;  adding  that 
she  was  resolved  to  go  through  with  her  imprisonment ; 
it  might  teach  her  valuable  lessons. 

The  Governor  of  the  prison  fortunately  was  a  humane 
and  reasonable  man  —  unlike  some  of  the  Home  Office 


IMPRISONMENT  271 

or  Scotland  Yard  officials.  He  read  the  newspapers  and 
reviews  of  the  day  and  was  aware  who  A^ivie  Warren 
was.  He  probably  made  no  unfair  difference  in  her 
case  from  any  other,  but  so  far  as  he  could  mould 
and  bend  the  prison  discipline  and  rules  it  was  his 
practice  not  to  use  a  razor  for  stone-chipping  or  a  cold- 
chisel  for  shaving.  He  therefore  put  Vivie  to  tasks 
co-ordinated  with  her  ability  and  the  deftness  of  her 
hands  —  such  as  book-binding.  She  had  of  course  to 
wear  prison  dress  —  a  thing  of  no  importance  in  her  eyes 
—  and  her  cell  was  like  all  the  cells  in  that  and  other 
British  prisons  previous  to  the  newest  reforms  —  dark, 
rather  damp,  cruelly  cold  in  winter,  and  disagreeable 
in  smell;  badly  ventilated  and  oppressively  ugly.  But 
it  was  at  any  rate  clean.  She  had  not  the  cockroaches, 
bugs,  fleas  and  lice  that  the  earliest  Suffragists  of  1908 
had  to  complain  of.  Five  years  of  outspoken  protests 
on  the  part  of  educated,  delicate-minded  women  had 
wrought  great  reforms  in  our  prisons  —  the  need  for 
which  till  then  was  not  apparent  to  the  perceptions  of 
Visiting  Magistrates. 

The  food  was  better,  the  wardresses  were  less  harsh, 
the  chaplains  a  little  more  endurable,  though  still  the 
worst  feature  in  the  prison  personnel,  with  their  unreas- 
oning Bibliolatry,  their  contemptuous  patronage,  their 
lack  of  Christian  pity  —  Christ  had  never  spoken  to  them, 
Vivie  often  thought  —  their  snobbishness.  The  chaplain 
of  her  imprisonment  became  quite  chummy  when  he  learnt 
that  she  had  been  a  Third  Wrangler  at  Cambridge,  knew 
Lady  Feenix,  and  had  lived  in  Kensington  prior  to  com- 
mitting the  offences  for  which  she  was  imprisoned.  How- 
ever this  helped  to  alleviate  her  dreary  seclusion  from 
the  world  as  he  occasionally  dropped  fragments  of  news 
as  to  what  was  going  on  outside,  and  he  got  her  books 
through  the  prison  library  that  were  not  evangelical  pap. 

One  day  when  she  had  been  in  prison  two  months  she 


272  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

had  a  great  surprise  —  a  visit  from  her  mother.  Strictly 
speaking  this  was  only  to  last  fifteen  minutes,  but  the 
wardress  who  had  conceived  a  liking  for  her  intimated 
that  she  wouldn't  look  too  closely  at  her  watch. 
Honoria  came  too  —  with  Mrs.  Warren  —  but  after  kiss- 
ing her  friend  and  leaving  some  beautiful  flowers  (which 
the  wardress  took  away  at  once  with  pretended  sternness 
and  brought  back  in  a  vase  after  the  visitors  had  left) 
Honoria  with  glistening  eyes  and  a  smile  that  was  all 
tremulous  sweetness,  intimated  that  Mrs.  Warren  had 
so  much  to  say  that  she,  Honoria,  was  not  going  to  stay 
more  than  that  one  minute. 

Mrs.  Warren  had  indeed  so  much  to  impart  in  the 
precious  half  hour  that  it  was  one  long  gabbled  mono- 
logue. 

"  When  I  heard  you'd  got  into  trouble,  my  darling, 
I  was  put  about.  Some'ow  I'd  never  thought  of  your 
being  pinched  and  acshally  sent  to  prison.  It  was  in 
the  Belgian  papers,  and  a  German  friend  of  mine  — 
Oh!  quite  proper  I  assure  you!  He's  a  Secretary  of 
their  legation  at  Brussels  and  ages  ago  he  used  to  be 
one  of  my  clients  when  the  Hotel  had  a  different  name. 
Well,  he  was  full  of  it.  '  Madam,'  'e  said,  '  your  English 
women  are  splendid.  They're  going  to  bring  about  a 
revolt,  you'll  see,  and  that,  an'  your  Ulster  movement  '11 
give  you  a  lot  of  trouble  next  year.' 

"  Well :  I  wrote  at  once  to  Praddy,  givin'  him  an  order 
on  my  London  agents,  'case  he  should  want  cash  for 
your  defence.  I  offered  to  come  over  meself,  but  he 
replied  that  for  the  present  I'd  better  keep  away.  Soon 
as  I  heard  you  was  sent  to  prison  I  come  over  and  went 
straight  to  Praddy.  My !  He  zvas  good.  He  made  me 
put  up  with  him,  knowin'  I  wanted  to  live  quiet  and  keep 
away  from  the  old  set.  '  There's  my  parlour-maid,'  'e 
says,  'sort  of  housekeeper  to  me  —  good  sort  too,  but 
wants  a  bit  of  yumourin.'     You'll  fix  it  up  with  her,'  he 


IMPRISONMENT  '273 

says.  And  I  jolly  soon  did.  I  give  her  to  begin  with  a 
good  tip,  an'  I  said  :  '  Look  'ere,  my  gal  —  she's  forty-five 
I  should  think — Every  one's  in  trouble  some  time  or 
other  in  their  lives,  and  I'm  in  trouble  now,  if  you  like. 
And  the  day's  come,'  I  said,  '  when  all  women  ought  to 
stick  by  one  another.'  'Pears  she's  always  had  the  highest 
opinion  of  you;  very  different,  you  was,  from  some  of 
'er  master's  friends.  I  says  *  Right-o ;  then  nozv  we  know 
where  we  are.' 

"  Praddy  soon  got  into  touch  with  the  authorities, 
but  for  some  reason  they  wouldn't  pass  on  a  letter  or  let 
me  come  and  see  you,  till  to-day.  But  here  I  am,  and 
here  I'm  goin'  to  stay  —  with  Praddy  —  till  they  lets  you 
out.  I'm-  told  that  if  you  be'ave  yourself  they'll  let 
me  send  you  a  passel  of  food,  once  a  week.  Think  of 
that!  My!  won't  I  find  some  goodies,  and  pate  de  foie 
gras.  I'll  come  here  once  a  month,  as  often  as  they 
'11  let  me,  till  I  gets  you  out.  'N  after  that,  we'll  leave 
this  'orrid,  'yprocritical  old  country  and  live  'appily  at 
my  Villa,  or  travel  a  bit.  Fortunately  I've  plenty  of 
money.  Bein'  over  here  I've  bin  rearranging  my  invest- 
ments a  bit.  Fact  is,  I  'ad  a  bit  of  a  scare  this  autumn. 
They  say  in  Belgium,  War  is  comin'.  Talkin'  to  this 
same  German  —  He's  always  pumpin'  me  about  the  Suf- 
fragettes so  I  occasionally  put  a  question  or  so  to  'im,  'e 
knowing  '  what's  what '  in  the  money  market  —  'e  says 
to  me  just  before  I  come  over,  *  What's  your  English 
proverb,  Madame  Varennes,  about  'avin'  all  your  eggs  in 
one  basket?  Is  all  your  money  in  English  and  Belgian 
securities  ?  '  I  says  '  Chiefly  Belgian  and  German  and 
Austrian,  and  some  I've  giv'  to  me  daughter  to  do  as  she 
likes  with.'  '  Well '  'e  says,  '  friend  speakin'  to  friend, 
you've  giv'  me  several  good  tips  this  autumn,'  he  says. 
'  Now  I'll  give  you  one  in  return.  Sell  out  your  Austrian 
investments  —  there's  goin'  to  be  a  big  war  in  the  Balkans 
next  year  and  as  like  as  not  me  shall  be  here  in  Belgium. 


274  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Sell  out  most  of  yer  Belgian  stock  and  put  all  your  money 
into  German  funds.  They'll  be  safe  there,  come  what 
may.'  I  thanked  'im ;  but  I  haven't  quite  done  what  he 
suggested.  I'm  takin'  all  my  money  out  of  Austrian 
things  and  all  but  Ten  thousand  out  of  Belgian  funds. 
I'm  leavin'  my  German  stock  as  it  was,  but  I'm  puttin' 
Forty  thousand  pounds  —  I've  got  Sixty  thousand  alto- 
gether —  all  yours  some  day  —  into  Canadian  Pacifies 
and  Royal  Mail  —  people  '11  always  want  steamships  — 
and  New  Zealand  Five  per  cents.  I  don't  like  the  look 
of  things  in  old  England  nor  yet  on  the  Continent.  Now 
me  time's  up.  Keep  up  your  heart,  old  girl ;  it'll  soon  be 
over,  specially  if  you  don't  play  the  fool  and  rile  the 
prison  people  or  start  that  silly  hunger  strike  and  ruin 
your  digestion.  G  —  good-bye;  and  G-God  b-bless  you, 
my  darlin'  "  added  Mrs.  Warren  relapsing  into  tears  and 
the  conventional  prayer  of  common  humanity,  which 
always  hopes  there  may  be  a  pitiful  Deity,  somewhere  in 
Cosmos, 

Going  out  into  the  corridor,  she  attempted  to  press  a 
sovereign  into  the  wardress's  hard  palm.  The  latter 
indignantly  repudiated  the  gift  and  said  if  Mrs.  Warren 
tried  on  such  a  thing  again,  her  visits  would  be  stopped. 
But  her  indignation  was  very  brief.  She  was  carrying 
Honoria's  flowers  at  the  time,  and  as  she  put  them  on 
the  slab  in  Vivie's  cell,  she  remarked  that  say  what  you 
liked,  there  was  nothing  to  come  up  to  a  mother,  give 
her  a  mother  rather  than  a  man  any  day. 

On  other  occasions  Bertie  Adams  came  with  Mrs.  War- 
ren ;  even  Professor  Rossiter,  who  also  went  to  see 
Vivie's  mother  at  Praed's,  and  conceived  a  whimsical 
liking  for  the  unrepentant,  outspoken  old  lady. 

Vivie's  health  gradually  recovered  from  the  effects  of 
the  forcible  feeding;  the  prison  fare,  supplemented  by 
the  weekly  parcels,  suited  her  digestion;  the  peace  of 
the  prison  life  and  the  regular  work  at  interesting  trades 


IMPRISONMENT  275 

soothed  her  nerves.  She  enjoyed  the  respite  from  the 
worries  of  her  comphcated  toilettes,  the  perplexity  of 
what  to  wear  and  how  to  wear  it ;  in  short,  she  was 
finding  a  spell  of  prison  life  quite  bearable,  except  for 
the  cold  and  the  attentions  of  the  chaplain.  She  gath- 
ered from  the  fortnightly  letter  which  her  industry  and 
good  conduct  allowed  her  to  receive,  and  to  answer,  that 
unwearied  efforts  were  being  made  by  her  friends  out- 
side to  shorten  her  sentence.  Mrs.  Warren  through 
Bertie  Adams  had  found  out  the  cases  where  jockeys 
and  stable  lads  had  lost  their  effects  in  the  fires  or  explo- 
sions which  had  followed  Vivie's  visits  to  their  employers' 
premises,  and  had  made  good  their  losses.  As  to  their 
employers,  they  had  all  been  heavily  insured,  and  recov- 
ered the  value  of  their  buildings;  and  as  to  the  insurance 
companies  they  had  all  been  so  enriched  by  Mr.  Lloyd 
George's  legislation  that  the  one-or-two  hundred  thousand 
pounds  they  had  lost,  through  Vivie's  revenge  for  the 
seemingly-fruitless  death  of  Emily  Wilding  Davison,  was 
a  bagatelle  not  worth  bothering  about.  But  all  attempts 
to  get  the  Home  Office  to  reconsider  Miss  Warren's  case 
or  to  shorten  her  imprisonment  (except  by  the  abridg- 
ment that  could  be  earned  in  the  pris'on  itself)  were  un- 
availing. So  long  as  the  Cabinet  held  Vivie  under  lock 
and  key,  the  Suffrage  movement  —  they  foolishly  be- 
lieved —  was    hamstrung. 

So  the  months,  went  by,  and  Vivie  almost  lost  count 
of  time  and  almost  became  content  to  wait.  Till  War 
was  declared  on  August  4th,  19 14.  A  few  days  after- 
wards followed  the  amnesty  to  Suffragist  prisoners. 
From  this  the  Home  Office  strove  at  first  to  exclude 
Vivien  Warren  on  the  plea  that  her  crime  was  an  ordinary 
crime  and  admitted  of  no  political  justification;  but  at 
this  the  wrath  of  Rossiter  and  the  indignation  of  the 
W.S.P.U.  became  so  alarming  that  the  agitated  Secre- 
tary of  State  —  not  at  all  sure  how  we  were  going  to 


2j6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

come  out  of  the  War  —  gave  wa}^,  and  an  order  was 
signed  for  Vivie's  release  on  the  nth  of  August;  on  the 
understanding  that  she  would  immediately  proceed 
abroad ;  an  understanding  to  which  she  would  not  sub- 
scribe but  which  in  her  slowly-formed  hatred  of  the 
British  Government  she  resolved  to  carry  out. 

Mrs.  Warren,  assured  by  Praed  and  Rossiter  that 
Vivie's  release  was  a  mere  matter  of  a  few  days,  had  left 
for  Brussels  on  the  5th  of  August.  If  —  as  was  then 
hoped  —  the  French  and  Belgian  armies  would  suffice 
to  keep  the  Germans  at  bay  on  the  frontier  of  Belgium, 
she  would  prefer  to  resume  her  life  there  in  the  Villa  de 
Beau-sejour.  If  however  Belgium  was  going  to  be  in- 
vaded it  was  better  she  should  secure  her  property  as  far 
as  possible,  transfer  her  funds,  and  make  her  way  some- 
how to  a  safe  part  of  France.  Vivie  would  join  her 
as  soon  as  she  could  leave  the  prison. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BRUSSELS    AND    THE    WAR:    I914 

THE  Lilacs  in  Victoria  Road  had  been  disposed  of  — 
through  Honoria  —  as  soon  as  possible,  after  the 
sentence  of  Three  years'  imprisonment  had  been  pro- 
nounced on  Vivie;  and  the  faithful  Suffragette  maid  had 
passed  into  Honoria's  employ  at  Petworth,  a  fact  that 
was  not  fully  understood  by  Colonel  Armstrong  until  he 
had  become  General  Armstrong  and  perfectly  indifferent 
to  the  Suffrage  agitation  which  had  by  that  time  attained 
its  end.  So  when  Vivie  had  come  out  of  prison  and  had 
promised  to  write  to  all  the  wardresses  and  to  meet  them 
some  day  on  non-professional  ground ;  had  found  Rossiter 
waiting  for  her  in  his  motor  and  Honoria  in  hers ;  had 
thanked  them  both  for  their  never-to-be-forgotten  kind- 
ness, and  had  insisted  on  walking  away  in  her  rather 
creased  and  rumpled  clothes  of  the  previous  year  with 
Bertie  Adams;  she  sought  the  hospitality  of  Praddy  at 
Hans  Place.  The  parlour-maid  received  her  sumptu- 
ously, and  Praddy's  eyes  watered  with  senile  tears. 

But  Vivie  would  have  no  melancholy.  "  Oh  Praddy ! 
If  you  only  knew.  It's  worth  going  to  prison  to  know 
the  joy  of  coming  out  of  it!  I'm  so  happy  at  thinking 
this  is  my  last  day  in  England  for  ever  so  long.  When 
the  War  is  over,  I  think  I  shall  settle  in  Switzerland  with 
mother  —  or  perhaps  all  three  of  us  —  you  with  us,  I 
mean  —  in  Italy.  We'll  only  come  back  here  when  the 
Women  have  got  the  Vote.  Now  to-night  you  shall  take 
me  to  the  theatre  —  or  rather  I'll  take  you.     I've  thought 

it  all  out  beforehand,  and  Bertie  Adams  has  secured  the 

277 


278  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

seats.  It's  The  Chocolate  Soldier  at  the  Adelphi,  the 
only  war  piece  they  had  ready;  there  are  two  stalls  for 
us  and  Bertie  and  his  wife  are  going  to  the  Dress  Circle. 
My  Cook's  ticket  is  taken  for  Brussels  and  I  leave  to- 
morrow by  the  Ostende  route." 

"  To-morrow  "  was  the  12th  of  August,  and  Dora  was 
not  yet  in  being  to  interpose  every  possible  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  the  civilian  traveller.  Down  to  the  Battle 
of  the  Marne  in  September,  19 14,  very  little  difficulty 
was  made  about  crossing  the  Channel,  especially  off  the 
main  Dover-Calais  route. 

So  in  the  radiant  noon  of  that  August  day  Vivie  looked 
her  last  on  the  brown-white  promontories,  cliffs  and  grey 
castle  of  Dover,  scarcely  troubling  about  any  anticipa- 
tions one  way  or  the  other,  and  certainly  having  no 
prevision  she  would  not  recross  the  Channel  for  four 
years  and  four  months,  and  not  see  Dover  again  for  five 
or  six  years. 

British  war  vessels  were  off  the  port  and  inside  it. 
But  there  was  not  much  excitement  or  crowding  on 
the  Ostende  steamer  or  any  of  those  sensational  pre- 
cautions against  being  torpedoed  or  mined,  which  soon 
afterwards  oppressed  the  spirits  of  cross-Channel  pas- 
sengers. Vessels  arriving  from  Belgium  were  full  of 
passengers  of  the  superior  refugee  class,  American  and 
British  tourists,  or  wealthy  people  who  though  they 
preferred  living  abroad  had  begun  to  think  that  the 
Continent  just  now  was  not  very  healthy  and  England 
the  securest  refuge  for  those  who  wished  to  be  com- 
fortable. 

Vivie  being  a  good  sailor  and  economical  by  nature, 
never  thought  of  securing  a  cabin  for  the  four  or  five 
hours'  sea-journey.  She  sat  on  the  upper  deck  with  her 
scanty  luggage  round  her.  A  nice-looking  young  man 
who  had  a  cabin  the  door  of  which  he  locked,  was 
walking  up  and  down  on  the  level  deck  and  scrutinizing 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         279 

her  discreetly.  And  when  at  last  they  worked  their  way 
backwards  into  Ostende  —  the  harbour  was  full  of  ves- 
sels, chiefly  mine-dredgers  and  torpedo  boats  —  she 
noticed  the  obsequiousness  of  the  steamer  people  and  how 
he  left  the  ship  before  any  one  else. 

She  followed  soon  afterwards,  having  little  encum- 
brances in  the  way  of  luggage ;  but  she  observed  that  he 
just  showed  a  glimpse  of  some  paper  and  was  allowed 
to  walk  straight  through  the  Douane  with  unexamined 
luggage,  and  so,  on  to  the  Brussels  train. 

But  she  herself  had  little  difficulty.  She  put  her  hand 
luggage  —  she  had  no  other  —  into  a  first-class  compart- 
ment, and  having  an  hour  and  a  half  to  wait  walked  out 
to  look  at  Ostende. 

Summer  tourists  were  still  there;  the  Casino  was  full 
of  people,  the  shops  were  doing  an  active  trade;  the 
restaurants  were  crowded  with  English,  Americans,  Bel- 
gians taking  tea,  chocolate,  or  liqueurs  at  little  tables 
and  creating  a  babel  of  talk.  Newspapers  were  being 
sold  everywhere  by  ragamuffin  boys  who  shouted  their 
head-lines  in  French,  Flemish,  and  quite  understandable 
English.  A  fort  or  two  at  Liege  had  fallen,  but  it  was 
of  no  consequence.  General  Leman  could  hold  out 
indefinitely,  and  the  mere  fact  that  German  soldiers  had 
entered  the  town  of  Liege  counted  for  nothing.  Belgium 
had  virtually  won  the  war  by  holding  up  the  immense  Ger- 
man army.  France  was  overrunning  Alsace,  Russia  was 
invading  East  Prussia  and  also  sending  uncountable 
thousands  of  s-oldiers,  via  Archangel,  to  England,  whence 
they  were  being  despatched  to  Calais  for  the  relief  of 
Belgium. 

"  It  looks,"  thought  Vivie,  after  glancing  at  the  Inde- 
pendancc  Bclgc,  "  As  though  Belgium  were  going  to  be 
extremely  interesting  during  the  next  few  weeks;  I  may 
be  privileged  to  witness  —  from  a  safe  distance  —  an- 
other Waterloo." 


28o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Then  she  returned  to  the  train  which  in  her  absence 
had  been  so  crowded  with  soldiers  and  civiHan  passengers 
that  she  had  great  difficidty  in  finding  her  place  and  seat- 
ing herself.  The  young  man  whom  she  had  seen  pacing 
the  deck  of  the  steamer  approached  her  and  said :  "  There 
is  more  room  in  my  compartment ;  in  fact  I  have  selfishly 
got  one  all  to  myself.     Won't  you  share  it?  " 

She  thanked  him  and  moved  in  there  with  her  suit  case 
and  rugs.  When  the  train  had  started  and  she  had 
parried  one  or  two  polite  enquiries  as  to  place  and  ventila- 
tion, she  said :  "  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  who  I  am,  in 
case  you  would  not  like  to  be  seen  speaking  to  me  —  I 
imagine  you  are  in  diplomacy,  as  I  noticed  you  went 
through  with  a  Red  passport. —  I  am  Vivien  Warren, 
just  out  of  prison,  and  an  outlaw,  more  or  less." 

The  outlaws  of  to-day  are  the  in-laws  of  to-mor- 
row,' as  the  English  barrister  said  when  he  married  the 
Boer  general's  daughter.  I  have  thought  I  recognized 
you.  I  have  heard  you  speak  at  Lady  Maud's  and  also 
at  Lady  Feenix's  Suffrage  parties.  My  name  is  Hawk. 
I  suppose  you've  been  in  prison  for  some  Suffrage  ofifence? 
So  has  my  aunt,  for  the  matter  of  that." 

Vivie:  "  Yes,  but  in  her  case  they  only  sentenced 
her  to  the  First  Division;  whereas  /  have  been  doing 
nine  months'  hard." 

Hawk:  "  What  was  your  crime?  " 

Vivie:  "  I  admit  nothing,  it  is  always  wisest.     But  I 

was  accused  of  burning  down  Mr. 's  racing  stables  — 

and  other  things.  .  .  ." 

Hawk:  "  That  beast.  Well,  I  suppose  it  was  very 
wrong.  Can't  quite  make  up  my  mind  about  militancy, 
one  way  or  the  other.  But  here  we  are  up  against  the 
biggest  war  in  history,  and  such  peccadilloes  as  yours 
sink  into  insignificance.  By  the  bye,  my  aunt  was  am- 
nestied and  so  I  suppose  were  you?" 

Vivie:  "  Yes,  but  not  so  handsomely.     I  was  requested 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         281 

to  go  away  from  England  for  a  time,  so  here  I  am,  about 
to  join  my  mother  in  Brussels  — or  in  a  little  country 
place  near  Brussels." 

Hawk:  "Well,  I've  been  Secretary  of  Legation  there. 
I'm  just  going  back  to  —  to  —  well  I'm  just  going  back." 

At  Bruges  they  were  told  that  the  train  would  not  leave 
for  Ghent  and  Brussels  for  another  two  hours  —  some 
mobilization  delay ;  so  Hawk  proposed  they  should  go 
and  see  the  Memlings  and  then  have  some  dinner. 

"Don't  you  think  they're  perfectly  wonderful?" — 
apropos  of  the  pictures  in  the  Hospital  of  St.  Jean. 

Vivie:  "  It  depends  on  what  you  mean  by  '  wonder- 
ful.' If  you  admire  the  fidelity  of  the  reproduction  in 
colour  and  texture  of  the  Flemish  costumes  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  I  agree  with  you.  It  is  also  interesting  to  see  the 
revelations  of  their  domestic  architecture  and  furniture 
of  that  time,  and  the  types  of  domestic  dog,  cow  and 
horse.  But  if  you  admire  them  as  being  true  pictures  of 
life  in  Palestine  in  the  time  of  Christ,  or  in  the  Rhine- 
land  of  the  filth  century,  then  I  think  they  —  like  most 
Old  Masters  - —  are  perfectly  rotten.  And  have  you  ever 
remarked  another  thing  about  all  paintings  prior  to  the 
seventeenth  century :  how  plain,  how  ngly  all  the  people 
are?  You  never  see  a  single  good-looking  man  or 
woman.  Do  let's  go  and  have  that  dinner  you  spoke  of. 
I've  got  a  prison  appetite." 

At  Ghent  another  delay  and  a  few  uneasy  rumours. 
The  Court  was  said  to  be  removins:  from  Brussels  and 
establishing  itself  at  Antwerp.  The  train  at  last  drew 
into  the  main  station  at  Brussels  half  an  hour  after  mid- 
night. Vivie's  mother  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  She 
had  evidently  gone  back  to  the  Villa  Beau-sejour  while 
she  could.  It  was  too  late  for  any  tram  in  the  direction 
of  Tervueren.     There  were  no  taxis  owing  to  the  drivers 


282  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

being  called  up.  Leaving  most  of  her  luggage  at  the 
cloak-room  —  it  took  her  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
even  to  approach  the  receiving  counter  —  Vivie  walked 
across  to  the  Palace  Hotel  and  asked  the  night  porter 
to  get  her  a  room.  But  every  room  was  occupied,  they 
said  —  Americans,  British,  wealthy  war  refugees  from 
southern  Belgium,  military  officers  of  the  Allies.  The 
only  concession  made  to  her  —  for  the  porter  could  hold 
out  little  hope  of  any  neighbouring  hotel  having  an  empty 
room  —  was  to  allow  her  to  sit  and  sleep  in  one  of  the 
comfortable  basket  chairs  in  the  long  atrium.  At  six 
o'clock  a  compassionate  waiter  who  knew  the  name  of 
Mrs.  Warren  gave  her  daughter  some  coffee  and  milk  and 
a  hrioche.  At  seven  she  managed  to  get  her  luggage 
taken  to  one  of  the  trams  at  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard 
du  Jardin  Botanique.  The  train  service  to  Tervueren 
was  suspended  —  and  at  the  Porte  de  Namur  she  would 
be  transferred  to  the  No.  45  tram  which  would  take  her 
out  to  Tervueren. 

Even  at  an  early  hour  Brussels  seemed  crowded  and 
as  the  tram  passed  along  the  handsome  boulevards  the 
shops  were  being  opened  and  tourists  were  on  their 
way  to  Waterloo  in  brakes.  Every  one  seemed  to  think 
in  mid-August,  19 14,  that  Germany  was  destined  to  re- 
ceive her  coiip-de-grdce  on  the  field  of  Waterloo.  It 
would  be  so  appropriate.  And  no  one  — at  any  rate  of 
those  who  spoke  their  thoughts  aloud  —  seemed  to  con- 
sider that  Brussels  was  menaced. 

Leaving  her  luggage  at  the  tram  terminus,  Vivie 
sped  on  foot  through  forest  roads,  where  the  dew  still 
glistened,  to  the  Villa  Beau-sejour.  Mrs.  Warren  was 
not  yet  dressed,  but  was  rapturous  in  her  greeting.  Her 
chauffeur  had  been  called  up,  so  the  auto  could  not  go 
out,  but  a  farm  cart  would  be  sent  for  the  luggage. 

"  I  believe,  mother,  Em  going  to  enjoy  myself 
enormously,"  said  Vivie  as  she  sat  in  the  verandah  in 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:   1914         283 

the  morning  sunshine,  making  a  deHcious  petit  dejeuner 
out  of  fresh  rolls,  the  butter  of  the  farm,  a  few  slices 
of  sausage,  and  a  big  cup  of  frothing  chocolate  topped 
with  whipped  cream.  The  scene  that  spread  before  her 
was  id3"llic,  from  a  bucohc  point  of  view.  The  beech 
woods  of  Tervueren  shut  out  any  horizon  of  town  ac- 
tivity; black  and  white  cows  were  being  driven  out  to 
pasture ;  a  flock  of  geese  with  necks  raised  vertically 
waggled  sedately  along  their  own  chosen  path,  a  little 
disturbed  and  querulous  over  the  arrival  of  a  stranger; 
turkey  hens  and  their  half-grown  poults  and  a  swelling, 
strutting  turkey  cock,  a  peacock  that  had  already  lost 
nearly  all  his  tail  and  therefore  declined  combat  with 
the  turkey  and  was,  moreover,  an  isolated  bachelor ; 
guinea-fowls  scratching  and  running  about  alternately; 
and  plump  cocks  and  hens  of  mixed  breed  covered  most 
of  the  ground  in  the  adjacent  farm  yard  and  the  turf 
of  an  apple  orchard,  where  the  fruit  was  already  red- 
dening under  the  August  sun.  Pigeons  circled  against 
the  sky  with  the  distinct  musical  notes  struck  out  by  their 
wings,  or  cooed  and  cooed  round  the  dove  cots.  The 
dairy  women  of  the  farm  laughed  and  sang  and  called 
out  to  one  another  in  Flemish  and  Wallon  rough  chaff 
about  their  men-folk  who  were  called  to  the  Colours. 
There  was  nothing  suggestive  here  of  any  coming  tragedy. 
This  was  the  morning  of  the  13th  of  August.  For 
three  more  days  Vivie  lived  deliciously,  isolated  from 
the  world.  She  took  new  books  to  the  shade  of  the 
forest,  and  a  rug  on  which  she  could  repose,  and 
read  there  with  avidity,  read  also  all  the  newspapers  her 
mother  had  brought  over  from  England,  tried  to  master 
the  events  which  had  so  rapidly  and  irresistibly  plunged 
Europe  into  War.  Were  the  Germans  to  blame,  she 
asked  herself?  Of  course  they  were,  technically,  in  in- 
vading Belgium  and  in  forcing  this  war  on  France.  But 
were  they  not  being  surrounded  by  a  hostile  Alliance? 


284  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Was  not  this  hostility  on  the  part  of  Servia  towards 
Austria  stimulated  by  Russia  in  order  to  forestal  the 
Central  Powers  by  a  Russian  occupation  of  Constanti- 
nople? Why  should  the  Russian  Empire  be  allowed  to 
stretch  for  nine  millions  of  square  miles  over  half  Asia, 
much  of  Persia,  and  now  claim  to  control  the  Balkan 
Peninsula  and  Asia  Minor?  If  England  might  claim  a 
large  section  of  Persia  as  her  sphere  of  influence,  and 
Egypt  likewise  and  a  fourth  part  of  Africa,  much  of 
Arabia,  and  Cyprus  in  the  Mediterranean,  why  might 
not  Germany  and  Austria  expect  to  have  their  little 
spheres  of  influence  in  the  Balkans,  in  Asia  Minor,  in 
Mesopotamia?  We  had  helped  France  to  Morocco  and 
Italy  to  Tripoli ;  why  should  we  bother  about  Servaa  ? 
It  might  be  unkind,  but  then  were  we  not  unkind  towards 
her  father's  country,  Ireland?  Were  we  very  tender 
towards  national  independence  in  Eg3^pt,  in  Persia? 

Yet  this  brutal  invasion  of  France,  this  unprovoked 
attack  on  Liege  were  ugly  things.  France  had  shown  no 
disposition  to  egg  Servia  on  against  Austria,  and  Sir 
Edward  Grey  in  the  last  days  of  June  —  she  now  learnt 
for  the  first  time,  for  she  had  seen  no  newspapers  in 
prison,  where  it  is  part  of  the  dehumanizing  policy  of 
the  Home  Office  to  prevent  their  entry,  or  the  dissemina- 
tion of  any  information  about  current  events  —  Sir  Ed- 
ward Grey  had  clearly  shown  Great  Britain  did  not  ap- 
prove of  Servian  intrigues  in  Bosnia.  Well :  let  the 
best  man  win.  Germany  was  just  as  likely  to  give  the 
Vote  to  her  women  as  was  Britain.  The  Germans  were 
first  in  Music  and  in  Science.  She  for  her  part  didn't 
wish  to  become  a  German  subject,  but  once  the  War  was 
over  she  would  willingly  naturalize  herself  Belgian  or 
Swiss. 

And  the  War  must  soon  be  over.  Europe  as  a  whole 
could  not  allow  this  devastation  of  resources.  America 
would   intervene.     Already  the   Germans   realized  their 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914        285 

gigantic  blunder  in  starting  the  attack.  Their  men  were 
said  to  be  —  she  read  —  much  less  brave  than  people  had 
expected.  The  mighty  German  Armies  had  been  held 
up  for  ten  days  by  a  puny  Belgian  force  and  the  forts 
of  Liege  and  Namur.  There  would  presently  be  an 
armistice  and  Germany  would  have  to  make  peace  with 
perhaps  the  cession  to  France  of  Metz  as  a  solatium, 
while  Germany  was  given  a  little  bit  more  of  Africa,  and 
Austria  got  nothing.  ,  .  . 

Meantime  the  Villa  Beau-sejour  seemed  after  Hollo- 
way  Prison  a  paradise  upon  earth.  Why  quarrel  with 
her  fate?  Why  not  drop  politics  and  take  up  philosophy? 
She  felt  herself  capable  of  writing  a  Universal  History 
which  would  be  far  truer  if  more  cynical  than  any 
previous  attempt  to  show  civilized  man  the  route  he  had 
followed  and  the  martyrdom  he  had  undergone. 

On  the  17th  of  August  she  took  the  tram  into  Brus- 
sels. It  seemed  however  as  if  it  would  never  get  there, 
and  when  she  reached  the  Porte  de  Namur  she  was  too 
impatient  to  wait  for  the  connection.  She  could  not  find 
any  gendarme,  but  at  a  superior-looking  flower-shop  she 
obtained  the  address  of  the  British  Legation. 

She  asked  at  the  lodge  for  Mr.  Hawk;  but  there  was 
only  a  Belgian  coachman  in  charge,  and  he  told  her  the 
Minister  and  his  staff  had  followed  the  Court  to  Ant- 
werp. Mr.  Hawk  had  only  left  that  morning.  "  What 
a  nuisance,"  said  Vivie  to  herself.  "  I  might  have  found 
out  from  him  whether  there  is  any  truth  in  the  rumours 
that  are  flying  about  Tervueren." 

These  rumours  were  to  the  effect  that  the  Germans 
had  captured  all  the  forts  of  Liege  and  their  brave  de- 
fender. General  Leman ;  that  they  were  in  Namur  and 
were  advancing  on  Louvain.  "  I  wonder  what  we  had 
better  do?  "  pondered  Vivie. 

In  her  bewilderment  she  took  the  bold  step  of  calling 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  gave  her  name  and  nationality,  and 


286        ■    MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

asked  the  advice  of  the  municipal  employe  who  saw  her 
as  to  what  course  she  and  her  mother  had  better  pursue : 
leave  Tervueren  and  seek  a  lodging  in  Brussels;  or  re- 
treat as  far  as  Ghent  or  Bruges  or  even  Holland?  The 
clerk  reassured  her.  The  Germans  had  certainly  occu- 
pied the  south-east  of  Belgium,  but  dared  not  push  as 
far  to  the  west  and  north  as  Brussels.  They  risked  other- 
wise being  nipped  between  the  Belgian  army  of  Antwerp 
and  the  British  force  marching  on  Mons.  ...  He  di- 
rected her  attention  to  the  last  communique  of  the  Min- 
istry of  War:  "La  situation  n'a  jamais  ete  meilleure. 
Bruxelles,  a  I'abri  d'un  coup  de  main,  est  defendue  par 
vingt  mille  gardes  civiques  armes  d'un  excellent  fusil," 
etc. 

Vivie  returned  therefore  a  trifle  reassured.  At  the 
same  time  she  and  her  mother  spent  some  hours  in  pack- 
ing up  and  posting  valuable  securities  to  London,  via 
Ostende,  in  packing  for  deposit  in  the  strong  rooms  of  a 
Brussels  bank  Mrs.  Warren's  jewellery  and  plate.  The 
tram  service  from  Tervueren  had  ceased  to  run.  So  they 
induced  a  neighbour  to  drive  them  into  Brussels  in  a 
chaise:  a  slow  and  wearisome  journey  under  a  broiling 
sun.  Arrived  in  Brussels  they  found  the  town  in  con- 
sternation. Placarded  on  the  walls  was  a  notice  signed 
by  the  Burgomaster — the  celebrated  Adolphe  Max  — 
informing  the  Bruxellois  that  in  spite  of  the  resistances 
of  the  Belgian  army  it  was  to  be  feared  the  enemy  might 
soon  be  in  occupation  of  Brussels.  In  such  an  event  he 
adjured  the  citizens  to  avoid  all  panic,  to  give  no  legiti- 
mate cause  of  offence  to  the  Germans,  to  renounce  any 
idea  of  resorting  to  arms!  The  Germans  on  their  part 
were  bound  by  the  laws  of  war  to  respect  private  property, 
the  lives  of  non-combatants,  the  honour  of  women,  and 
the  exercise  of  religion. 

Vivie  and  her  mother   found  the  banks   closed   and 
likewise  the   railway  station.     They  now   had  but   one 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         287 

thought :  to  get  l^ack  as  quickly  as  possible  to  Villa  Beau- 
sejour,  and  fortunately  for  their  dry-mouthed  impatience 
their  farmer  friend  was  of  the  same  mind.  Along  the 
Tervueren  road  they  met  numbers  of  peasant  refugees 
in  carts  and  on  foot,  driving  cattle,  geese  or  pigs  towards 
the  capital ;  urging  on  the  tugging  dogs  with  small  carts 
and  barrows  loaded  with  personal  effects,  trade-goods, 
farm  produce,  or  crying  children.  All  of  them  had  a 
distraught,  haggard  appearance  and  were  constantly  look- 
ing behind  them.  From  the  east,  indeed,  came  the  dis- 
tant sounds  of  explosions  and  intermittent  rifle  firing. 
Mrs.  Warren  was  blanched  with  fear,  her  cheeks  a  dull 
peach  colour.  She  questioned  the  people  in  French  and 
Flemish,  but  they  only  answered  vaguely  in  raucous 
voices  :     "  Les  Allemands!  "     "  De  Duitscher." 

One  old  woman,  however,  had  flung  herself  down  by 
the  roadside,  while  her  patient  dog  lay  between  the  shafts 
of  the  little  cart  till  she  should  be  pleased  to  go  on.  She 
was  more  communicative  and  told  Mrs.  Warren  a  tale 
too  horrible  to  be  believed,  about  husband,  son,  son-in-law 
all  killed,  daughter  violated  and  killed  too,  cottage  in 
flames,  livestock  driven  off.  Recovering  from  her  ex- 
haustion she  rose  and  shook  herself.  "  Eve  no  business 
to  be  here.  I  should  be  with  thevi.  I  was  just  packing 
this  cart  for  the  market  when  it  happened.  Why  did  I 
go  away?  Oh  for  shame!  Ell  go  back  —  to  them. 
.  .  ."  And  forthwith  she  turned  the  dog  round  and 
trudged  the  same  way  they  were  going. 

At  last  they  came  opposite  the  courtyard  of  the  Villa 
and  saw  the  lawn  and  gravel  sweep  full  of  helmeted 
soldiers  in  green-grey  uniform,  their  bodies  hung  with 
equipment  —  bags,  great-coats,  rolled-up  blankets,  trench 
spades,  cartridge  bandoliers.  Vivie  jumped  down 
quickly,  said  to  her  mother  in  a  low  firm  voice  :  "  Leave 
everything  to  me.  Say  as  little  as  possible."  Then  to 
the  farmer :  "  Nous  vous  remercions  infiniment.     Vous 


288  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

aurez  mille  choses  a  faire  chez  vous,  je  n'en  doute.  Nous 
reglerons  notre  compte  tout-a  I'heure.  .  .  .  Pour  le  mo- 
ment, adieu."  She  clutched  the  handbags  of  vakiables, 
skmg  them  somehow  on  her  left  arm,  while  with  her  other 
she  piloted  the  nearly  swooning  Mrs.  Warren  into  the 
court. 

They  were  at  once  stopped  by  a  non-commissioned  offi- 
cer who  asked  them  in  abrupt,  scarcely  understandable 
German  what  they  wanted.  Vivie  guessing  his  meaning 
said  in  English  —  she  scarcely  knew  any  German :  "  This 
is  our  house.  We  have  been  absent  in  Brussels.  We 
want  to  see  the  officer  in  command.''  The  soldier  knew 
no  English,  but  likewise  guessed  at  their  meaning.  He 
ordered  them  to  wait  where  they  were.  Presently  he 
came  out  of  the  Villa  and  said  the  Herr  Oberst  would 
see  them.  Vivie  led  her  mother  into  the  gay  little  hall  — 
how  pleasant  and  cool  it  had  looked  in  the  early  morning ! 
It  was  now  full  of  surly-looking  soldiers.  Without  hesi- 
tating she  took  a  chair  from  one  soldier  and  placed  her 
mother  in  it.  "  You  rest  there  a  moment,  dearest,  while 
I  go  in  and  see  the  officer  in  command."  The  corporal 
she  had  first  spoken  with  beckoned  her  into  the  pretty 
sitting-room  at  the  back  where  they  had  had  their  early 
breakfast  that  morning. 

Here  she  saw  seated  at  a  table  consulting  plans  of  Brus- 
sels and  other  papers  a  tall,  handsome  man  of  early  mid- 
dle age,  who  might  indeed  have  passed  for  a  young  man, 
had  he  not  looked  very  tired  and  care-worn  and  exhibited 
a  bald  patch  at  the  back  of  his  head,  rendered  the  more 
apparent  because  the  brown-gold  curls  round  it  were  dank 
with  perspiration.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  clicked  his  heels 
together  and  saluted.  "  An  English  young  lady,  I  am 
told,  rather  .  .  .  a  .  .  .  surprise  .  .  .  on  ,  .  .  the  .  .  . 
outskirts  .  .  .  of  Brussels.  .  .  ."  (His  English  was  ex- 
cellent, if  rather  staccato  and  spaced.)  "  It  .  .  .  is  .  .  . 
not  .  .  .  usual  .  .  .  for  .  .  .  Englishwomen    ...    to 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914        289 

...  be  owners  ...  of  chateaux  ...  in  Belgium.  But 
I  .  .  .  hear  ...  it  ...  is  ..  .  your  mother  .  .  .  who 
is  the  owner  .  .  .  from  long  time,  and  you  are  her  daugh- 
ter newly  arrived  from  England?  Nicht  wahr?  Sie 
verstehen  nicht  Deutsch,  gniidiges  Fraulein?" 

"  No,"  said  Vivie,  "  I  don't  speak  much  German,  and 
fortunately  you  speak  such  perfect  English  that  it  is  not 
necessary." 

"  I  have  stayed  some  time  in  England,"  was  the  reply; 
"  I  was  once  military  attache  in  London.  Both  your  voice 
and  your  face  seem  —  w^hat  should  one  say  ?  Familiar  to 
me.     Are  you  of  London?  " 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  I  may  say  I  am  a  Londoner,  though 
I  believe  I  was  born  in  Brussels.  But  I  don't  want  to 
beat  about  the  bush :  there  is  so  much  to  be  said  and  ex- 
plained, and  all  this  time  I  am  very  anxious  about  my 
mother.  She  is  in  the  hall  outside  —  feels  a  little  faint 
I  think  with  shock  —  might  she  —  might  I  ?  " 

"  But  my  dear  Miss  ?  " 

"  Miss  Warren " 

"  My  dear  Miss  Warren,  of  course.  We  are  enemies 
—  pour  le  moment  —  but  we  Germans  are  not  monsters. 
("What  about  those  peasants'  stories?"  said  Vivie  to 
herself.)  Your  lady  mother  must  come  in  here  and 
take  that  fauteuil.  Then  we  can  talk  better  at  our 
ease." 

Vivie  got  up  and  brought  her  mother  in. 

"Now  you  shall  tell  me  everything — is  it  not  so? 
Better  to  be  quite  frank.  A  la  guerre  comme  a  la  guerre. 
First,  you  are  English  ?  " 

"  Yes.  My  mother  is  Mrs.  Warren,  I  am  her  daugh- 
ter, Vivien  Warren.  My  mother  has  lived  many  years 
in  Belgium,  though  also  in  other  places,  in  Germany,  Aus- 
tria and  France.  Of  late,  however,  she  has  lived  entirely 
here.     This  place  belongs  to  her," 

"And  you?" 


290  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

"  I  ?  I  have  just  been  released  from  prison  in  London, 
Holloway  Prison.  .  .  ." 

"My  dear  young  lady!  You  are  surely  joking  — 
what  do  you  say?'  You  pull  my  leg?  But  no;  I  see! 
You  have  been  Suffragette.  Aha  !  /  understand  you  are 
the  Miss  Warren,  the  Miss  Warren  who  make  the  Eng- 
lish Government  afraid,  nicht  wahr?  You  set  fire  to 
Houses  of  Parliament.  .  .  ." 

Vivie  (interrupting)  :  "  No,  no!  Only  to  some  racing 
stables.  .  .  ," 

Oberst:  "1  understand.     But  you  are  rebel?" 

Vivie:  "  I  hate  the  present  British  Government  —  the 
most  hypocritical,  the  most.  ..." 

Oberst:  "  But  we  are  in  agreement,  you  and  I !  This 
is  splendid.  But  now  we  must  be  praktisch.  We  are  at 
war,  though  we  hope  here  for  a  peaceful  occupation  of 
Belgium.  You  will  see  how  the  Fliimisch  —  Ah,  you 
say  the  Fleming?  —  the  Flemish  part  of  Belgium  will  re- 
ceive us  with  such  pleasure.  It  is  only  with  the  Walsch, 
the  Wallon  part  we  disagree.  .  .  .  But  there  is  so  much 
for  me  to  do  —  we  must  talk  of  all  these  things  some 
other  time.  Let  us  begin  our  business.  I  must  first  in- 
troduce myself.  I  am  Oberst  Gottlieb  von  Giesselin  of 
the  Saxon  Army.  (He  rose,  clicked  heels,  bowed,  and 
sat  down.)  I  see  you  have  three  heavy  bags  you  look 
at  often.     What  is  it?  " 

Vivic  (taking  courage)  :  "  It  is  my  mother's  jewellery 
and  some  plate.     She  fears " 

Von  G.:  "  I  understand!  We  have  a  dr-r-eadful  rep- 
utation, we  poor  Germans !  The  French  stuff  you  up 
with  lies.  But  we  are  better  than  you  think.  You  shall 
take  them  in  two  —  three  days  to  Brussels  when  things 
are  quiet,  and  put  them  in  some  bank.  Here  I  fear  I  must 
stay.  I  must  intrude  myself  on  your  hospitality.  But 
better  for  you  perhaps  if  I  stay  here  at  present.  I  will 
put  a  few  of  my  men  in  your  —  your  —  buildings.     Most 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914        291 

of  them  shall  go  with  their  officers  to  Tervueren  for  billet." 
(Turning  to  Mrs.  Warren.)  "  Madam,  you  must  cheer 
up.  I  foresee  your  daughter  and  I  will  be  great  friends. 
Let  us  now  look  through  the  rooms  and  see  what  disposi- 
tion we  can  make.  I  think  I  will  have  to  take  this  room 
for  my  writing,  for  my  work.  I  see  you  have  telephone 
here.     Gut! " 

Leaving  Mrs.  Warren  still  seated,  but  a  little  less  ster- 
torous in  breathing,  a  little  reassured,  Vivie  and  Oberst 
von  Giesselin  then  went  over  the  Villa,  apportioning  the 
rooms.  The  Colonel  and  his  orderly  would  be  lodged  in 
two  of  the  bedrooms.  Vivie  and  her  mother  would  share 
Mrs.  Warren's  large  bedroom  and  retain  the  salon  for 
their  exclusive  occupation.  They  would  use  the  dining- 
room  in  common  with  their  guest. 

Vivie  looking  out  of  the  windows  occasionally,  as  they 
passed  from  room  to  room,  saw  the  remainder  of  the 
soldiery  strolling  off  to  be  lodged  at  their  nearest  neigh- 
bour's, the  farmer  who  had  driven  them  in  to  Brussels 
that  morning.  There  were  perhaps  thirty,  accompanying 
a  young  lieutenant.  How  would  he  find  room  for  them, 
poor  man?  They  were  more  fortunate  in  being  asked 
onl}'  to  lodge  six  or  seven  in  addition  to  the  Colonel's 
orderly  and  soldier-clerk.  Before  sunset,  the  Villa  Beau- 
sejour  was  clear  of  soldiers,  except  the  few  that  had  gone 
to  the  barn  and  the  outhouses.  The  morning  room  had 
been  fitted  up  with  a  typewriter  at  which  the  military 
clerk  sat  tapping.  The  Colonel's  personal  luggage  had 
been  placed  in  his  bedroom.  A  soldier  was  even  sweeping 
up  all  traces  of  the  invasion  of  armed  men  and  making 
everything  tidy.  It  all  seemed  like  a  horrid  dream  that 
was  going  to  end  up  happily  after  all.  Presently  Vivie 
would  wake  up  completely  and  there  would  even  be  no 
Oberst,  no  orderly ;  only  the  peaceful  life  of  the  farm  that 
was  going  on  yesterday.  Here  a  sound  of  angry  voices 
interrupted  her  musings.     The  cows  returning  by  them- 


292  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

selves  from  the  pasture  were  being  intercepted  by  soldiers 
who  were  trying  to  secure  them.  Vivie  in  her  indignation 
ran  out  and  ordered  the  soldiers  off,  in  English.  To  her 
surprise  they  obeyed  silently,  but  as  they  sauntered  away 
to  their  quarters  she  was  saddened  at  seeing  them  carry- 
ing the  bodies  of  most  of  the  turkeys  and  fowls  and  even 
the  corpse  of  the  poor  tailless  peacock.  They  had  waited 
for  sundown  to  rob  the  hen-roosts. 

Very  much  disillusioned  she  ran  to  the  morning  room 
and  burst  in  on  the  Colonel's  dictation  to  his  clerk.  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  but  if  you  don't  keep  your  soldiers  in  better 
order  you  will  have  very  little  to  eat  whilst  you  are  here. 
They  are  killing  and  carrying  off  all  our  poultry." 

The  Colonel  flushed  a  little  at  the  peremptory  way  in 
which  she  spoke,  but  without  replying  went  out  and 
shouted  a  lot  of  orders  in  German.  His  orderly  sum- 
moned soldiers  from  the  barn  and  together  they  drove 
the  cows  into  the  cow-sheds.  All  the  Flemish  servants 
having  disappeared  in  a  panic,  the  Germans  had  to  milk 
the  cows  that  evening;  and  Vivie,  assisted  by  the  orderly, 
cooked  the  evening  meal  in  the  kitchen.  He  was,  like 
his  Colonel,  a  Saxon,  a  pleasant-featured,  domesticated 
man,  who  explained  civilly  in  the  Thuringian  dialect  — 
though  to  Vivie  there  could  be  no  discrimination  between 
varieties  of  High  German  —  that  the  Sachsen  folk  were 
"  Eines  giites  leute  "  and  that  all  would  go  smoothly  in 
time. 

Nevertheless  the  next  morning  when  she  could  take 
stock  she  found  nearly  all  the  poultry  except  the  pigeons 
had  disappeared;  and  most  of  the  apples,  ripe  and  unripe, 
had  vanished  from  the  orchard  trees.  The  female  serv- 
ants of  the  farm,  however,  came  back;  and  finding  no  vio- 
lence was  offered  took  up  their  work  again.  Two  days 
afterwards,  von  Giesselin  sent  Vivie  into  Brussels  in  his 
motor,  with  his  orderly  to  escort  her,  so  that  she  might 
deposit  her  valuables  at  a  bank.     She   found  Brussels, 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         293 

suburbs  and  city  alike,  swarming  with  grey-uniformed 
soldiers,  most  of  whom  looked  tired  and  despondent. 
Those  who  were  on  the  march,  thinking  Vivie  must  be 
the  wife  of  some  German  officer  of  high  rank,  struck  up 
a  dismal  chant  from  dry  throats  with  a  refrain  of  "  Gloria, 
Viktoria,  Hoch !  Deutschland,  Hoch !  "  At  the  bank  the 
Belgian  officials  received  her  with  deference.  Apart  from 
being  the  daughter  of  the  well-to-do  Mrs.  Warren,  she  was 
English,  and  seemed  to  impose  respect  even  on  the  Ger- 
mans. They  took  over  her  valuables,  made  out  a  receipt, 
and  cashed  a  fairly  large  cheque  in  ready  money.  Vivie 
then  ventured  to  ask  the  bank  clerk  who  had  seen  to  her 
business  if  he  had  any  news.  Looking  cautiously  round, 
he  said  the  rumours  going  through  the  town  were  that  the 
Queen  of  Holland,  enraged  that  her  Prince  Consort  should 
have  facilitated  the  crossing  of  Limburg  by  German 
armies,  had  shot  him  dead  with  a  revolver ;  that  the  Crown 
Prince  of  Germany,  despairing  of  a  successful  end  of  the 
War,  had  committed  suicide  at  his  father's  feet ;  that  the 
American  Consul  General  in  Brussels  —  to  whom,  by  the 
bye,  Vivie  ought  to  report  herself  and  her  mother,  in 
order  to  come  under  his  protection  —  had  notified  Gen- 
eral Sixt  von  Arnim,  commanding  the  army  in  Brus- 
sels, that,  unless  he  vacated  the  Belgian  capital  im- 
mediately, England  would  bombard  Hamburg  and  the 
United  States  would  declare  war  on  the  Kaiser.  Alluring 
stories  like  these  flitted  through  despairing  Brussels  dur- 
ing the  first  two  months  of  German  occupation,  though 
Vivie,  in  her  solitude  at  Tervueren,  seldom  heard  them. 

After  her  business  at  the  bank  she  walked  about  the 
town.  No  one  took  any  notice  of  her  or  annoyed  her 
in  any  way.  The  restaurants  seemed  crowded  with  Bel- 
gians as  well  as  Germans,  and  the  Belgians  did  not  seem 
to  have  lost  their  appetites.  The  Palace  Hotel  had  be- 
come a  German  officers'  club.  On  all  the  public  build- 
ings the  German  Imperial  flag  hung  alongside  the  Belgian. 


294  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Only  a  few  of  the  trams  were  running.  Yet  you  could 
still  buy,  without  much  difficulty  at  the  kiosques,  Belgian 
and  even  French  and  British  newspapers.  From  these 
she  gathered  that  the  German  forces  were  in  imminent 
peril  between  the  Belgian  Antwerp  army  on  the  north 
and  the  British  army  advancing  from  the  south ;  and  that 
in  the  plains  of  Alsace  the  French  had  given  the  first  pub- 
lic exhibition  of  the  new  "  Turpin  "  explosive.  The  re- 
sults had  been  foudroyant  .  .  .  and  simple.  Complete 
regiments  of  German  soldiers  had  been  destroyed  in  one 
minute.  It  seemed  curious,  she  thought,  that  with  such 
an  arm  as  this  the  French  command  did  not  at  once  come 
irresistibly  to  the  rescue  of  Brussels.  .  .  . 

However,  it  was  four  o'clock,  and  there  was  her  friend 
the  enemy's  automobile  drawn  up  outside  the  bank,  await- 
ing her.  She  got  in,  and  the  soldier  chauffeur  whirled 
her  away  to  the  Villa  Beau-sejour,  beyond  Tervueren. 

On  her  return  she  found  her  mother  prostrate  with  bad 
news.  Their  nearest  neighbour,  Farmer  Oudekens  who 
had  driven  them  into  Brussels  the  preceding  day  had  been 
executed  in  his  own  orchard  only  an  hour  ago.  It  seemed 
that  the  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  soldiers  billeted  there 
had  disappeared  in  the  night,  leaving  his  uniform  and 
watch  and  chain  behind  him.  The  farmer's  story  was 
that  in  the  night  the  lieutenant  had  appeared  in  his  room 
with  a  revolver  and  had  threatened  to  shoot  him  unless  he 
produced  a  suit  of  civilian  clothes.  Thus  coerced  he  had 
given  him  his  eldest  son's  Sunday  clothes  left  behind  when 
the  said  son  went  off  to  join  the  Belgian  army.  The  lieu- 
tenant, grateful  for  the  assistance,  had  given  him  as  a 
present  his  watch  and  chain. 

On  the  other  hand  the  German  non-commissioned  of- 
ficers insisted  their  lieutenant  had  been  made  away  with 
in  the  night.  The  farmer's  allegation  that  he  had  de- 
serted (as  in  fact  he  had)  only  enhanced  his  crime.  The 
finding  of   the   court   after  a  very   summary   trial   was 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         295 

"  guilty,"  and  despite  the  frantic  appeals  of  the  wife,  re- 
inforced later  on  by  Mrs.  Warren,  the  farmer  had  been 
taken  out  and  shot. 

The  evening  meal  consequently  was  one  of  strained  re- 
lations. Colonel  von  Giesselin  came  to  supper  punctually 
and  was  very  spruce  in  appearance.  But  he  was  gravely 
polite  and  uncommunicative.  And  after  dessert  the  two 
ladies  asked  permission  to  retire.  They  lay  long  awake 
afterwards,  debating  in  whispers  what  terror  might  be 
in  store  for  them.  Mrs.  Warren  cried  a  good  deal  and 
lamented  futilely  her  indolent  languor  of  a  few  days  previ- 
ously. Why  had  she  not,  while  there  was  yet  time, 
cleared  out  of  Brussels,  gone  to  Holland,  and  thence  re- 
gained England  with  Vivie,  and  from  England  the  south 
of  France?  Vivie,  more  stoical,  pointed  out  it  was  no  use 
crying  over  lost  opportunities.  Here  they  were,  and  they 
must  sharpen  their  wits  to  get  away  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity.    Perhaps  the  American  Consul  might  help  them? 

The  next  morning,  however,  their  guest,  who  had  in- 
sensibly turned  host,  told  Vivie  the  tram  service  to  Brus- 
sels, like  the  train  service,  was  suspended  indefinitely,  and 
that  he  feared  they  must  resign  themselves  to  staying 
where  they  were.  Under  his  protection  they  had  nothing 
to  fear.  He  was  sorry  the  soldiers  had  helped  themselves 
so  freely  to  the  livestock ;  but  everything  had  now  settled 
down.  Henceforth  they  would  be  sure  of  something  to 
eat,  as  he  himself  had  got  to  be  fed.  And  all  he  asked  of 
them  was  their  agreeable  society. 

Two  months  went  by  of  this  strange  life.  Two 
months,  in  which  Vivie  only  saw  German  newspapers  — 
which  she  read  with  the  aid  of  von  Giesselin.  Their  con- 
tents filled  her  with  despair.  They  made  very  little  of  the 
Marne  rebuff,  much  of  the  capture  of  Antwerp  and  Os- 
tende,  and  the  occupation  of  all  Belgium  (as  they  put  it). 
Vivie  noted  that  the  German  Emperor's  heart  had  bled  for 
the  punishment   inflicted  on  Louvain.      (She   wondered 


296  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

how  that  strange  personality,  her  father,  had  fared  in  the 
destruction  of  monastic  buildings.)  But  she  had  then  no 
true  idea  of  what  had  taken  place,  and  the  far-reaching 
harm  this  crime  had  done  to  the  German  reputation.  She 
noted  that  the  German  Press  expressed  disappointment 
that  the  cause  of  Germany,  the  crusade  against  Albion, 
had  received  no  support  from  the  Irish  Nationalists,  or 
from  the  "  revolting  "  women,  the  Suffragettes,  who  had 
been  so  cruelly  maltreated  by  the  administration  of  As- 
quith  and  Sir  Grey. 

This  point  was  discussed  by  the  Colonel,  but  Vivie 
found  herself  speaking  as  a  patriot.  How  could  the  Ger- 
mans expect  British  women  to  turn  against  their  ov/n 
country  in  its  hour  of  danger? 

"Then  you  would  not,"  said  von  Giesselin,  "consent 
to  write  some  letters  to  vour  friends,  if  I  said  I  could 
have  them  sent  safely  to  their  destination?  —  only  let- 
ters," he  added  hastily,  seeing  her  nostrils  quiver  and  a 
look  come  into  her  eyes  —  "  to  ask  your  Suffrage  friends 
to  bring  pressure  to  bear  on  their  Government  to  bring 
this  d-r-r-eadful  War  to  a  just  peace.  That  is  all  we 
ask."  But  Vivie  said  "  with  all  her  own  private  grudge 
against  the  present  ministry  she  felt  ait  fond  she  was 
British;  she  must  range  herself  in  time  of  war  with  her 
own  people." 

Mrs.  Warren  went  much  farther.  She  was  not  very 
voluble  nowadays.  The  German  occupation  of  her  villa 
had  given  her  a  mental  and  physical  shock  from  which 
she  never  recovered.  She  often  sat  quite  silent  and  rather 
huddled  at  meal  times  and  looked  the  old  woman  now. 
In  such  a  conversation  as  this  she  roused  herself  and 
her  voice  took  an  aggressive  tone.  "  My  daughter  write 
to  her  friends  to  ask  them  to  obstruct  the  government 
at  such  a  time  as  this?  Never!  I'd  disown  her  if  she 
did,  I'd  repudiate  her !  She  may  have  had  her  own 
turn-up  with  'em.     I  was  quite  with  her  there.     But  that. 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         297 

so  to  speak,  was  only  a  domestic  quarrel.  We're  British 
all  through,  and  don't  you  forget  it  —  sir —  (she  added 
deprecatingly)  :  British  all  through  and  we're  goin'  to  beat 
Germany  yet,  you'll  see.  The  British  navy  never  has 
been  licked  nor  won't  be,  this  time." 

Colonel  von  Giesselin  did  not  insist.  He  seemed  de- 
pressed himself  at  times,  and  far  from  elated  at  the  vic- 
tories announced  in  his  own  newspapers.  He  would  in 
the  dreary  autumn  evenings  show  them  the  photographs 
of  his  wife  —  a  sweet-looking  woman  —  and  his  two 
solid-looking,  handsome  children,  and  talk  with  rapture  of 
his  home  life.  Why,  indeed,  was  there  this  War!  His 
heart  like  his  Emperor's  bled  for  these  unhappy  Belgians. 
But  it  was  all  due  to  the  Macchiavellian  policy  of  "  Sir 
Grey  and  Asquiss."  If  Germany  had  not  felt  herself  sur- 
rounded and  barred  from  all  future  expansion  of  trade 
and  influence  she  would  not  have  felt  forced  to  attack 
France  and  invade  Belgium.  Why,  see !  All  the  time 
they  were  talking,  barbarous  Russia,  egged  on  by  Eng- 
land, was  ravaging  East  Prussia! 

Then,  in  other  moods,  he  would  lament  the  war  and 
the  policy  of  Prussia.  How  he  had  loved  England  in 
the  days  when  he  was  military  attache  there.  He  had 
once  wanted  to  marry  an  Englishwoman,  a  Miss  Eraser, 
a  so  handsome  daughter  of  a  Court  Physician. 

"  Why,  that  must  have  been  Honoria,  my  former  part- 
ner," said  Vivie,  finding  an  intense  joy  in  this  link  of 
memory.  And  she  told  much  of  her  history  to  the  senti- 
mental Colonel,  who  was  conceiving  for  her  a  sincere 
friendship  and  camaraderie.  They  opened  up  other  veins 
of  memory,  talked  of  Lady  Feenix,  of  the  musical  par- 
ties at  the  Parrys,  of  Emily  Daymond's  playing,  of  this, 
that  and  the  other  hostess,  of  such-and-such  an  actress  or 
singer. 

The  Colonel  of  course  was  often  absent  all  day  on 
military  duties.     He  advised  Vivie  strongly  on  such  oc- 


298  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

casions  not  to  go  far  from  Mrs.  Warren's  little  domain. 
"  I  am  obliged  to  remind  you,  dear  young  lady,  that  you 
and  your  mother  are  my  prisoners  in  a  sense.  Many  bad 
things  are  going  on  —  things  we  cannot  help  in  war  — 
outside  this  quiet  place.  .  .   ." 

In  November,  however,  there  was  a  change  of  scene, 
which  in  many  ways  came  to  Vivie  and  her  mother  with 
a  sense  of  great  relief.  Colonel  von  Giesselin  told  them 
one  morning  he  had  been  appointed  Secretary  to  the  Ger- 
man Governor  of  Brussels,  and  must  reside  in  the  town  not 
far  from  the  Rue  de  la  Loi.  He  proposed  that  the  ladies 
should  move  into  Brussels  likewise ;  in  fact  he  delicately 
insisted  on  it.  Their  pleasant  relations  could  thus  con- 
tinue —  perhaps  —  who  knows  ?  —  to  the  end  of  this 
War,  "  to  that  peace  which  will  make  us  friends  once 
more?"  It  would  in  any  case  be  most  unsafe  if,  with- 
out his  protection,  they  continued  to  reside  at  this  se- 
cluded farm,  on  the  edge  of  the  great  woods.  In  fact  it 
could  not  be  thought  of,  and  another  officer  was  com- 
ing here  in  his  place  with  a  considerable  suite.  Eventu- 
ally compensation  would  be  paid  to  Mrs.  Warren  for  any 
damage  done  to  her  property. 

The  two  women  readily  agreed.  In  the  curtailment  of 
their  movements  and  the  absence  of  normal  means  of 
communication  their  life  at  Villa  Beau-sejour  was  belying 
its  name.  Their  supply  of  money  was  coming  to  an  end; 
attempts  must  be  made  to  regularize  that  position  by 
drawing  on  Mrs.  Warren's  German  investments  and  the 
capital  she  still  had  in  Belgian  stock  —  if  that  were  nego- 
tiable at  all. 

Where  should  they  go?  Mrs.  Warren  still  had  some 
lien  on  the  Hotel  £douard-Sept  (the  name,  out  of  defer- 
ence to  the  Germans,  had  been  changed  to  Hotel  Im- 
perial). With  the  influence  of  the  Government  Secre- 
tary behind  her  she  might  turn  out  some  of  its  occu- 
pants and  regain  the  use  of  the  old  "  appartement."     This 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         299 

would  accommodate  Vivie  too.  And  there  was  no  reason 
why  their  friend  should  not  place  his  own  lodging  and 
office  at  the  same  hotel,  which  was  situated  conveniently 
on  the  Rue  Royale  not  far  from  the  Governor's  residence 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Loi. 

So  this  plan  was  carried  out.  And  in  December,  19 14, 
Mrs.  Warren  had  some  brief  flicker  of  happiness  once 
more,  and  even  Vivie  felt  the  nightmare  had  lifted  a  little. 
It  was  life  again.  Residence  at  the  Villa  Beau-sejour 
had  almost  seemed  an  entombment  of  the  living.  Here,  in 
the  heart  of  Brussels,  at  any  rate,  you  got  some  news 
every  day,  even  if  much  of  it  was  false.  The  food  sup- 
ply was  more  certain,  there  were  700,000  people  all  about 
you.  True,  the  streets  were  very  badly  lit  at  night  and 
fuel  was  scarce  and  dear.  But  you  were  in  contact  with 
people. 

In  January,  Vivie  tried  to  get  into  touch  with  the 
American  Legation,  not  only  to  send  news  of  their  con- 
dition to  England  but  to  ascertain  whether  permission 
might  not  be  obtained  for  them  to  leave  Belgium  for 
Holland.  But  this  last  plea  was  said  by  the  American 
representative  to  be  unsustainable.  For  various  reasons, 
the  German  Government  would  not  permit  it,  and  he  was 
afraid  neither  Vivie  nor  her  mother  would  get  enough 
backing  from  the  British  authorities  to  strengthen  the 
American  demand.  She  must  stop  on  in  Brussels  till  the 
War  came  to  an  end. 

"  But  how  are  we  to  live?  "  asked  Vivie,  with  a  catch 
in  her  throat.  "  Our  supply  of  Belgian  money  is  coming 
to  an  end.  My  mother  has  considerable  funds  invested  in 
England.  These  she  can't  touch.  She  has  other  sums 
in  German  securities,  but  soon  after  the  War  they  stopped 
sending  her  the  interest  on  the  plea  that  she  was  an 
'  enemy.'  As  to  the  money  we  have  in  Belgium,  the  bank 
in  Brussels  can  tell  me  nothing.  What  are  we  to  do  ?  " 
The  rather  cold-mannered  American  diplomatist  —  it  was 


300  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

one  of  the  Secretaries  of  Legation  and  he  knew  all  about 
Mrs.  Warren's  past,  and  regarded  Vivie  as  an  outlaw  — 
said  he  would  try  to  communicate  with  her  friends  in 
England  and  see  if  through  the  American  Relief  or- 
ganization, funds  could  be  transmitted  for  their  mainte- 
nance. She  gave  him  the  addresses  of  Rossiter,  Praed, 
and  her  mother's  London  bankers. 

Vivie  now  tried  to  settle  down  to  a  hfe  of  usefulness. 
To  increase  their  resources  she  gave  lessons  in  English 
to  Belgians  and  even  to  German  officers.  She  offered 
herself  to  various  groups  of  Belgian  ladies  who  had 
taken  up  such  charities  as  the  Germans  permitted.  She 
also  asked  to  be  taken  on  as  a  Red  Cross  helper.  But 
in  all  these  directions  she  had  many  snubs  to  meet  and 
little  encouragement.  Scandal  had  been  busy  with  her 
name  —  the  unhappy  reputation  of  her  mother,  the 
peculiar  circumstances  under  which  she  had  left  England, 
the  two  or  three  months  shut  up  at  Tervueren  with  Colonel 
von  Giesselin,  and  the  very  protection  he  now  accorded 
her  and  her  mother  at  the  Hotel  Imperial.  She  felt  her- 
self looked  upon  almost  as  a  pariah,  except  among  the 
poor  of  Brussels  in  the  Ouartier  des  Marolles.  Here  she 
was  only  regarded  as  a  kind  Englishwoman,  unwearied 
in  her  efforts  to  alleviate  suiTering,  mental  and  bodily. 

And  meantime,  silence,  a  wall  of  silence  as  regarded 
England  —  England  which  she  was  beginning  to  look 
upon  as  the  paradise  from  which  she  had  been  chased. 
Not  a  word  had  come  through  from  Rossiter,  from 
Honoria,  Bertie  Adams,  or  any  of  her  Suffrage  friends. 
I  can  supply  briefly  what  she  did  not  kno^v. 

Rossiter  at  the  very  outbreak  of  War  had  offered  his 
services  as  one  deeply  versed  in  anatomy  and  in  physiol- 
ogy to  the  Army  Medical  Service,  and  especially  to  a  great 
person  at  the  War  Office ;  but  had  been  told  quite  cavalierly 
that  they  had  no  need  of  him.     As  he  persisted,  he  had 


BRUSSELS  AND  THE  WAR:  1914         301 

been  asked  —  in  the  hope  that  it  might  get  rid  of  him  — 
to  go  over  to  the  United  States  in  company  with  a  writer 
of  comic  stories,  a  retired  actor  and  a  music-hall  singer, 
and  lecture  on  the  causes  of  the  War  in  the  hope  of  bring- 
ing America  in.  This  he  had  declined  to  do,  and  being 
rich  and  happening  to  know  personally  General  Armstrong 
(Honoria's  husband)  he  had  been  allowed  to  accompany 
him  to  the  vicinity  of  the  front  and  there  put  his  theories 
of  grafting  flesh  and  bone  to  the  test;  with  the  ultimate 
results  that  his  work  became  of  enormous  beneficial  im- 
portance and  he  was  given  rank  in  the  R.A.M.C. 
Honoria,  racked  with  anxiety  about  her  dear  "  Army," 
and  very  sad  as  to  Vivie's  disappearance,  slaved  at  War 
work  as  much  as  her  children's  demands  on  her  per- 
mitted ;  or  even  put  her  children  on  one  side  to  help  the 
sick  and  wounded.  Vivie's  Suffrage  friends  forgot  she 
had  ever  existed  and  turned  their  attention  to  propa- 
ganda, to  recruiting  for  the  Voluntary  Army  which  our 
ministers  still  hoped  might  suffice  to  win  the  War,  to  the 
making  of  munitions,  or  aeroplane  parts,  to  land  work 
and  to  any  other  work  which  might  help  their  country  in 
its  need. 

And  Bertie  Adams? 

When  he  realized  that  his  beloved  and  revered  Miss 
Warren  was  shut  off  from  escape  in  Belgium,  could  not 
be  heard  of,  could  not  be  got  at  and  rescued,  he  went 
nearly  off  his  nut.  .  .  .  He  reviewed  during  a  succession 
of  sleepless  nights  what  course  he  might  best  pursue.  His 
age  was  about  thirty-two.  He  might  of  course 
enlist  in  the  army.  But  though  very  patriotic,  his  al- 
legiance lay  first  at  the  feet  of  Vivie  Warren.  If  he 
entered  the  army,  he  might  be  sent  anywhere  but  to  the 
Belgian  frontier;  and  even  if  he  got  near  Belgium  he  could 
not  dart  off  to  rescue  Vivie  without  becoming  a  deserter. 
So  he  came  speedily  to  the  conclusion  that  the  most 
promising  career  he  could  adopt,  having  regard  to  his 


302  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

position  in  life  and  lack  of  resources,  was  to  volunteer 
for  foreign  service  under  the  Y.M.C.A.,  and  express  the 
strongest  possible  wish  to  be  employed  as  near  Belgium 
as  was  practicable.  So  that  by  the  end  of  September, 
1914,  Bertie  was  serving  out  cocoa  and  biscuits,  writing 
paper  and  cigarettes,  hot  coffee  and  sausages  and  cups  of 
bovril  to  exhausted  or  resting  soldiers  in  the  huts  of  the 
Y.M.C.A.,  near  Ypres.  Alternating  with  these  services, 
he  was,  like  other  Y.M.C.A.  men  in  the  same  district  and 
at  the  same  time,  acting  as  stretcher  bearer  to  bring  in 
the  wounded,  as  amateur  chaplain  with  the  dying,  as 
amateur  surgeon  with  the  wounded,  as  secretary  to  some 
distraught  officer  in  high  command  whose  clerks  had  all 
been  killed ;  and  in  any  other  capacity  if  called  upon.  But 
always  with  the  stedfast  hope  and  purpose  that  he  might 
somehow  reach  and  rescue  Vivie  Warren, 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    GERMANS    IN    BRUSSELS:    I9I5-I916 

IN  the  early  spring  of  191 5,  Vivie,  anxious  not  to  see 
her  mother  in  utter  penury,  and  despairing  of  any  ef- 
fective assistance  from  the  Americans  (very  much  preju- 
diced against  her  for  the  reasons  already  mentioned),  took 
her  mother's  German  and  Belgian  securities  of  a  face 
value  amounting  to  about  £18,000  and  sold  them  at  her 
Belgian  bank  for  a  hundred  thousand  francs  (£4,000)  in 
Belgian  or  German  bank  notes.  She  consulted  no  one, 
except  her  mother.  Who  was  there  to  consult  ?  She  did 
not  like  to  confide  too  much  to  Colonel  von  Giesselin,  a 
little  too  prone  in  any  case  to  "  protect  "  them.  But  as 
she  argued  with  Mrs.  Warren,  what  else  were  they  to  do 
in  their  cruel  situation?  If  the  Allies  were  eventually 
victorious,  Mrs.  Warren  could  return  to  England.  There 
at  least  she  had  in  safe  investments  £40,000,  ample  for 
the  remainder  of  their  lives.  If  Germany  lost  the  War, 
the  German  securities  nominally  worth  two  hundred  thou- 
sand marks  might  become  simply  waste  paper;  even  now 
they  were  only  computed  by  the  bank  at  a  purchase  value 
of  about  one  fifth  what  they  had  stood  at  before  the 
War.  If  Germany  were  victorious  or  agreed  to  a  com- 
promise peace,  her  mother's  shares  in  Belgian  companies 
might  be  unsaleable.  Better  to  secure  now  a  lump  sum 
of  four  thousand  pounds  in  bank  notes  that  would  be  legal 
currency,  at  any  rate  as  long  as  the  German  occupation 
lasted.  And  as  one  never  knew  what  might  happen,  it 
was  safer  still  to  have  all  this  money  (equivalent  to  a 
hundred  thousand  francs),  in  their  own  keeping.     They 

303 


304  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

could  live  even  in  war  time,  on  such  a  sum  as  this  for  four, 
perhaps  five  years,  as  they  would  be  very  economical  and 
Vivie  would  try  to  earn  all  she  could  by  teaching.  It  was 
useless  to  hope  they  would  be  able  to  return  to  Villa  Beau- 
sejour  so  long  as  the  German  occupation  lasted,  or  during 
that  time  receive  a  penny  in  compensation  for  the  seques- 
tration of  the  propert}^ 

The  notes  for  the  hundred  thousand  francs  therefore 
were  carefully  concealed  in  Mrs.  Warren's  bedroom  at  the 
Hotel  Imperial  and  Vivie  for  a  few  months  afterwards 
felt  slightly  easier  in  her  mind  as  to  the  immediate  future; 
for,  as  a  further  resource,  there  were  also  the  jewels  and 
plate  at  the  bank. 

They  dared  hope  for  nothing  from  Villa  Beau-sejour. 
Von  Giesselin,  after  more  entreaty  than  Vivie  cared  to 
make,  had  allowed  them  with  a  special  pass  and  his  orderly 
as  escort  to  go  in  a  military  motor  to  the  Villa  in  the 
month  of  April  in  order  that  they  might  bring  away  the 
rest  of  their  clothes  and  personal  effects  of  an  easily 
transportable  nature.  But  the  visit  was  a  heart-breaking 
disappointment.  Their  reception  was  surly;  the  place  was 
little  else  than  a  barrack  of  disorderly  soldiers  and  in- 
solent officers.  Any  search  for  clothes  or  books  was  a 
mockery.  Nothing  w^as  to  be  found  in  the  chests  of 
drawers  that  belonged  to  them;  only  stale  food  and  un- 
nameable  horrors  or  military  equipment  articles.  The 
garden  was  trampled  out  of  recognition.  There  had  been 
a  beautiful  vine  in  the  greenhouse.  It  was  still  there, 
but  the  first  foliage  of  spring  hung  withered  and  russet 
coloured.  The  soldiers,  grinning  when  Vivie  noticed  this, 
pointed  to  the  base  of  the  far  spreading  branches.  It  had 
been  sawn  through,  and  much  of  the  glass  of  the  green- 
house deliberately  smashed. 

On  their  way  back,  Mrs.  Warren,  who  was  constantly 
in  tears,  descried  waiting  by  the  side  of  the  road  the  widow 
of    their    farmer-neighbour,    Madame    Oudekens.     She 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      305 

asked  the  orderly  that  they  might  stop  and  greet  her.  She 
approached.  Mrs.  Warren  got  out  of  the  car  so  that  she 
might  more  privately  talk  to  her  in  Flemish.  Since  her 
husband's  execution,  the  woman  said,  she  had  had  to  be- 
come the  mistress  of  the  sergeant-major  who  resided  with 
her  as  the  only  means,  seemingly,  of  saving  her  one  re- 
maining young  son  from  exile  in  Germany  and  her 
daughters  from  unbearably  brutal  treatment;  though  she 
added,  "  As  to  their  virtue,  that  has  long  since  vanished; 
all  I  ask  is  that  they  be  not  half-killed  whenever  the  sol- 
diers get  drunk.  Oh  Madame !  If  you  could  only  say  a 
word  to  that  Colonel  with  whom  you  are  living?  " 

Mrs.  Warren  dared  not  translate  this  last  sentence  to 
Vivie,  for  fear  her  daughter  forced  her  at  all  costs  to 
leave  the  Hotel  Imperial.  Where,  if  she  did,  were  they 
to  go? 

The  winter  of  1914  had  witnessed  an  appalling  degree 
of  fright  fulness  in  eastern  Belgium,  the  Wallon  or  French- 
speaking  part  of  the  country  more  especially.  The  Ger- 
mans seemed  to  bear  a  special  grudge  against  this  region, 
regarding  it  as  doggedly  opposed  to  absorption  into  a 
Greater  Germany;  whereas  they  hoped  the  Flemish  half 
of  the  country  v/ould  receive  them  as  fellow  Teutons  and 
even  as  deliverers  from  their  former  French  oppressors. 
Thousands  of  old  men  and  youths,  of  women  and  children 
in  the  provinces  south  of  the  Meuse  had  been  shot  in  cold 
blood;  village  after  village  had  been  burnt.  Scenes  of 
nearly  equal  horror  had  taken  place  between  Brussels  and 
Antwerp,  especially  around  Malines.  Von  Bissing's  ar- 
rival as  Governor  General  was  soon  signalized  by  those 
dreaded  Red  Placards  on  the  walls  of  Brussels,  announc- 
ing the  verdicts  of  courts-martial,  the  condemnation  to 
death  of  men  and  women  who  had  contravened  some 
military  regulation. 

Yet  in  spite  of  this,  life  went  on  in  Brussels  once  more 
—  by   von   Bissing's    stern   command  • —  as    though   the 


3o6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

country  were  not  under  the  heel  of  the  invader.  The 
theatres  opened  their  doors;  the  cinemas  had  continuous 
performances ;  there  was  Grand  Opera ;  there  were  exhi- 
bitions of  toys,  or  pictures,  and  charitable  bazaars.  Ten 
days  after  the  fall  of  Antwerp  char-a-bancs  packed  with 
Belgians  drove  out  of  Brussels  to  visit  the  scenes  of  the 
battles  and  those  shattered  forts,  so  fatuously  deemed 
impregnable,  so  feeble  in  their  resistance  to  German 
artillery. 

Vivie,  even  had  she  wished  to  do  so,  could  not  have 
joined  the  sight-seers.  As  the  subjects  of  an  enemy 
power  she  and  her  mother  had  had  early  in  January  to 
register  themselves  at  the  Kommandantur  and  were  there 
warned  that  without  a  special  passport  they  might  not 
pass  beyond  the  limits  of  Brussels  and  its  suburbs.  Ex- 
cept in  the  matter  of  the  farewell  visit  to  the  farm  at 
Tervueren,  Vivie  was  reluctant  to  ask  for  any  such 
favour  from  von  Giesselin,  though  she  was  curious  to  see 
the  condition  of  Louvain  and  to  ascertain  whether  her 
father  still  inhabited  the  monastic  house  of  his  order  — 
she  had  an  idea  that  he  was  away  in  Germany  in  con- 
nection with  his  schemes  for  raising  the  Irish  against 
the  British  Government.  Von  Giesselin  however  was  be- 
coming sentimentally  inclined  towards  her  and  she  saw  no 
more  of  him  than  was  necessary  to  maintain  polite  rela- 
tions. Frau  von  Giesselin,  for  various  reasons  of  health 
or  children,  could  not  join  him  at  Brussels  as  so  many 
German  wives  had  done  with  other  of  the  high  function- 
aries (to  the  great  embitterment  of  Brussels  society)  ; 
and  there  were  times  when  von  Giesselin's  protestations 
of  his  loneliness  alarmed  her. 

The  King  of  Saxony  had  paid  a  visit  to  Brussels  in 
the  late  autumn  of  1914  and  had  invited  this  Colonel  of 
his  Army  to  a  fastuous  banquet  given  at  the  Palace 
Hotel.  The  King  —  whom  the  still  defiant  Brussels 
Press,  especially  that  unkillable  La  Libre  Belgique,  re- 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      307 

minded  ironically  of  his  domestic  infelicity,  by  enquiring 
whether  he  had  brought  Signor  Toselli  to  conduct  his 
orchestra  —  was  gratified  that  a  subject  of  his  should  be 
performing  the  important  duties  of  Secretary  to  the  Brus- 
sels Government,  and  his  notice  of  von  Giesselin  gave  the 
latter  considerable  prestige,  for  a  time ;  an  influence  which 
he  certainly  exercised  as  far  as  he  was  able  in  softening 
the  edicts  and  the  intolerable  desire  to  annoy  and  exas- 
perate on  the  part  of  the  Prussian  Governors  of  province 
and  kingdom.  He  even  interceded  at  times  for  unfor- 
tunate British  or  French  subjects,  stranded  in  Brussels, 
and  sometimes  asked  Vivie  about  fellow-countr3^men  who 
sought  this  intervention. 

This  caused  her  complicated  annoyances.  Seeing  there 
was  some  hope  in  interesting  her  in  their  cases,  these 
English  governesses,  tutors,  clerks,  tailors'  assistants  and 
cutters,  music-hall  singers,  grooms  appealed  to  Vivie  to 
support  their  petitions.  They  paid  her  or  her  mother  a 
kind  of  base  court,  on  the  tacit  assumption  that  she  — 
Vivie  —  had  placed  Colonel  von  Giesselin  under  special 
obligations.  If  in  rare  instances,  out  of  sheer  pity,  she 
took  up  a  case  and  von  Giesselin  granted  the  petition  or 
had  it  done  in  a  higher  cjuarter,  his  action  was  clearly  a 
personal  favour  to  her;  and  the  very  petitioners  went 
away,  with  the  ingratitude  common  in  such  cases,  and 
spread  the  news  of  Vivie's  privileged  position  at  the 
Hotel  Imperial.  It  was  not  surprising  therefore  that 
in  the  small  circles  of  influential  British  or  American 
people  in  Brussels  she  was  viewed  with  suspicion  or  con- 
tempt. She  supported  this  odious  position  at  the  Hotel 
Imperial  as  long  as  possible,  in  the  hope  that  Colonel 
von  Giesselin  when  he  had  realized  the  impossibility  of 
using  herself  or  her  mother  in  any  kind  of  intrigue  against 
the  British  Government  would  do  what  the  American 
Consul  General  professed  himself  unable  or  unwilling  to 
do :  obtain  for  them  passports  to  proceed  to  Holland. 


3o8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Von  Giesselin,  from  December,  19 14,  took  up  among 
other  duties  that  of  Press  Censor  and  officer  in  charge  of 
PubHcity.  After  the  occupation  of  Brussels  and  the  fall 
of  Antwerp,  the  "  patriotic "  Belgian  Press  had  with- 
drawn itself  to  France  and  England  or  had  stopped  publi- 
cation. Its  newspapers  had  been  invited  to  continue  their 
functions  as  organs  of  news-distribution  and  public  opin- 
ion, but  of  course  under  the  German  Censorate  and  mar- 
tial law.  As  one  editor  said  to  a  polite  German  official : 
"  If  I  were  to  continue  the  publication  of  my  paper  under 
such  conditions,  my  staff  and  I  would  all  be  shot  in  a 
week." 

But  the  large  towns  of  Belgium  could  not  be  left  with- 
out a  Press.  Public  Opinion  must  be  guided,  and  might 
very  well  be  guided  in  a  direction  favourable  to  German 
policy.  The  German  Government  had  already  introduced 
the  German  hour  into  Belgian  time,  the  German  coinage, 
the  German  police  system,  and  German  music;  but  it  had 
no  intention,  seemingly,  of  forcing  the  German  speech 
on  the  old  dominions  of  the  House  of  Burgundy.  On  the 
contrary,  in  their  tenure  of  Belgium  or  of  North-east 
France,  the  Germans  seemed  desirous  of  showing  how 
well  they  wrote  the  French  language,  how  ready  they  were 
under  a  German  regime  to  give  it  a  new  literature. 
Whether  or  not  they  enlisted  a  few  recreants,  or  made 
use  of  Alsatians  or  Lorrainers  to  help  them,  it  is  never- 
the-less  remarkable  how  free  as  a  rule  their  written  and 
printed  French  was  from  mistakes  or  German  idioms; 
though  their  spoken  French  always  remained  Alsatian. 
It  suffered  from  that  extraordinary  misplacement  and 
exchange  in  the  upper  and  lower  consonants  which  has 
distinguished  the  German  people  —  that  nation  of  great 
philologists  —  since  the  death  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
German  officers  still  said  "  Barton,  che  fous  brie,"  in- 
stead of  "  Pardon,  je  vous  prie  "   (if  they  were  polite), 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      309 

but  they  were  quite  able  to  contribute  articles  de  fond  to  a 
pretended  national  Belgian  press.  Besides  there  was  a 
sufficiency  of  Belgian  "  Sans-Patries  "  ready  to  come  to 
their  assistance :  Belgian  nationals  of  German-Jewish  or 
Dutch-Jewish  descent,  who  in  the  present  generation  had 
become  Catholic  Christians  as  it  ranged  them  with  the 
best  people.  They  were  worthy  and  wealthy  Belgian  citi- 
zens, but  presumably  would  not  have  deeply  regretted  a 
change  in  the  political  destinies  of  Belgium,  provided  in- 
ternational finance  was  not  adversely  affected.  There 
were  also  a  few  Belgian  Socialists  —  a  few,  but  enough  — 
who  took  posts  under  the  German  provisional  government, 
on  the  plea  that  until  you  could  be  purely  socialistic  it 
did  not  matter  under  what  flag  you  drew  your  salary. 

Von  Giesselin  was  most  benevolently  intentioned,  in 
reality  a  kind-hearted  man,  a  sentimentalist.  Not  quite 
prepared  to  go  to  the  stake  himself  in  place  of  any  other 
victim  of  Prussian  cruelty,  but  ready  to  make  some  ef- 
fort to  soften  hardships  and  reduce  sentences.  (There 
were  others  like  him  —  Saxon,  Thuringian,  Hanoverian, 
Wiirttembergisch  —  or  the  German  occupation  of  Bel- 
gium might  have  ended  in  a  vast  Sicilian  Vespers,  a  boil- 
ing-over of  a  maddened  people  reckless  at  last  of  whether 
they  died  or  not,  so  long  as  they  slew  their  oppressors.) 
He  hoped  through  the  pieces  played  at  the  theatres  and 
through  his  censored,  subsidized  press  to  bring  the  Bel- 
gians round  to  a  reasonable  frame  of  mind,  to  a  toleration 
of  existence  under  the  German  Empire.  But  his  efforts 
brought  down  on  him  the  unsparing  ridicule  of  the  Pari- 
sian-minded Bruxellois.  They  were  prompt  to  detect  his 
attempts  to  modify  the  text  of  French  operettas  so  that 
these,  while  delighting  the  lovers  of  light  music,  need  not 
at  the  same  time  excite  a  military  spirit  or  convey  the 
least  allusion  of  an  impertinent  or  contemptuous  kind 
towards  the  Central  Powers.     Thus  the  couplets 


3IO  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

"  Dans  le  service  de  I'Autriche 
Le  militaire  n'est  pas  riche  " 

were  changed  to 

"  Dans  le  service  de  la  Suisse 
Le  militaire  n'est  pas  riche." 

These  passionate  Hnes  of  a  pohtical  exile: 

"  A  I'etranger  un  pacte  impie 
Vendait  nion  sang,  liait  ma  foi, 
Mais  a  present,  o  ma  patrie 
Je  pourrai  done  mourir  pour  toi !  " 

were  rendered  harmless  as 

"  A  I'etranger,  en  reverie 
Chaque  jour  je  pleurals  sur  toi 
Mais  a  present,  o  ma  patrie 
Je  penserai  sans  cesse  a  toi !  " 

The  pleasure  he  took  in  recasting  this  doggerel  —  call- 
ing in  Vivie  to  help  him  as  presumably  a  good  scholar 
in  French  —  got  on  her  nerves,  and  she  was  hard  put  to 
it  to  keep  her  temper. 

Sometimes  he  proposed  that  she  should  take  a  hand, 
even  become  a  salaried  subordinate ;  compose  articles  for 
his  subsidized  paper,  "  L'Ami  de  I'Ordre"  (nicknamed 
"  L'Ami  de  L'Ordure  "  by  the  Belgians),  "  La  Belgiquc," 
"  Lc  Brnxcllois,"  "  Vers  la  Paix."  He  would  allow  her 
a  very  free  hand,  so  long  as  she  did  not  attack  the  Ger- 
mans or  their  allies  or  put  in  any  false  news  about  mili- 
tary or  naval  successes  of  the  foes  of  Central  Europe. 
She  might,  for  instance,  dilate  on  the  cruel  manner  in 
which  the  Woman  Suffragists  had  been  persecuted  in  Eng- 
land; give  a  description  of  forcible  feeding  or  of  police 
ferocity  on  Black  Friday. 

Vivie  declined  any  such  propositions.  "  I  have  told 
you  already,  and  often,"  she  said,  "  I  am  deeply  grate- 
ful for  all  you  have  done  for  my  mother  and  me.  We 
might  have  been  in  a  far  more  uncomfortable  position 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      311 

but  for  your  kindness.  But  I  cannot  in  any  way  asso- 
ciate myself  with  the  German  policy  here.  I  cannot  pre- 
tend for  a  moment  to  condone  what  you  do  in  this  coun- 
try. If  I  were  a  Belgian  woman  I  should  probably  have 
been  shot  long  ago  for  assassinating  some  Prussian  of- 
ficial —  I  can  hardly  see  von  Bissing  pass  in  his  auto- 
mobile, as  it  is,  without  wishing  I  had  a  bomb.  But 
there  it  is.  It  is  no  business  of  mine.  As  I  can't  get  away, 
as  you  won't  let  us  go  out  of  the  country  —  Switzer- 
land, Holland  —  and  as  I  don't  want  to  go  mad  by  brood- 
ing, find  something  for  me  to  do  that  will  occupy  my 
thoughts :  and  yet  not  implicate  me  with  the  Germans. 
Can't  I  go  and  help  every  day  in  your  hospitals?  If 
you'll  continue  your  kindness  to  mother  —  and  believe 
me  " —  she  broke  off  — "  I  do  appreciate  what  you  have 
done  for  us.  I  shall  never  forget  I  have  met  one  true 
German  gentleman — if  you'll  continue  to  l)e  as  kind  as 
before,  you  will  simply  give  instructions  that  mother  is 
in  no  way  disturbed  or  annoyed.  There  are  Germans 
staying  here  who  are  odious  beyond  belief.  If  they  meet 
my  mother  outside  her  room  they  ask  her  insulting  ques- 
tions —  whether  she  can  give  them  the  addresses  of  —  of 
—  light  women  .  .  .  you  know  the  sort  of  thing.  I  have 
always  been  outspoken  with  you.  All  I  ask  is  that  mother 
shall  be  allowed  to  stay  in  her  own  room  while  I  am  out, 
and  have  her  meals  served  there.  But  the  hotel  people 
are  beginning  to  make  a  fuss  about  the  trouble,  the  lack 
of  waiters.  A  word  from  you  —  And  then  if  my  mind 
was  at  ease  about  her  I  could  go  out  and  do  some  good 
with  the  poor  people.  They  are  getting  very  restive  in 
the  Marolles  quarter  —  the  shocking  bad  bread,  the  lack 
of  fuel  —  Most  of  all  I  should  like  to  help  in  the  hospitals. 
My  own  countrywomen  will  not  have  me  in  theirs.  They 
suspect  me  of  being  a  spy  in  German  pay.  Besides,  your 
von  Bissing  has  ordered  now  that  all  Belgian,  British, 
and  French  wounded  shall  be  taken  to  the  German  Red 


312  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Cross.  Well :  if  you  want  to  be  kind,  give  me  an  in- 
troduction there.  Surely  it  would  be  bare  humanity 
on  your  part  to  let  an  Englishwoman  be  with  some  of 
those  poor  lads  who  are  sorely  wounded,  dying  per- 
haps " — she  broke  down  —  "  The  other  day  I  followed 
two  of  the  motor  ambulances  along  the  Boulevard  d'An- 
spach.  Blood  dripped  from  them  as  they  passed,  and  I 
could  hear  some  English  boy  trying  to  sing  '  Tipper- 
ary '  " 

"  My  tear  Miss  Warren  —  I  will  try  to  do  all  that  you 
want  —  You  will  not  do  anything  I  want,  but  never  mind. 
I  will  show  you  that  Germans  can  be  generous.  I  will 
speak  about  your  mother.  I  am  sorry  that  there  are 
bad-mannered  Germans  in  the  hotel.  There  are  some  — 
what-you-call  '  bounders  ' —  among  us,  as  there  are  with 
you.  It  is  to  be  regretted.  As  to  our  Red  Cross  hos- 
pitals, I  know  of  a  person  who  can  make  things  easy 
for  you.  I  will  write  a  letter  to  my  cousin  —  like  me 
she  is  a  Saxon  and  comes  from  Leipzig  —  Minna  von 
Stachelberg.  She  is  but  a  few  months  widow,  widow  of 
a  Saxon  officer,  Graf  von  Stachelberg  who  was  killed 
at  Namur.  Oh !  it  was  very  sad ;  they  were  but  six 
months  married.  Afterwards  she  came  here  to  work  in 
our  Red  Cross  —  I  think  now  she  is  in  charge  of  a 
ward.  ..." 

So  Vivie  found  a  few  months'  reprieve  from  acute  sor- 
row and  bitter  humiliation.  Grafin  von  Stachelberg  was 
as  kind  in  her  way  as  her  cousin  the  Colonel,  but  much  less 
sentimental.  In  fact  she  was  of  that  type  of  New  Ger- 
man woman,  taken  all  too  little  into  account  by  our  Press 
at  the  time  of  the  War.  There  were  many  like  her  of  the 
upper  middle  class,  the  professorial  class,  the  lesser  no- 
bility to  be  found  not  only  in  Leipzig  but  in  Berlin,  Ham- 
burg, Frankfort,  Halle,  Bonn,  Miinchen,  Hannover,  Bre- 
men, Jena,  Stuttgart,  Cologne  —  nice  to  look  at,  extremely 
modern  in  education  and  good  manners,  tasteful  in  dress. 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      313 

speaking  English  marvellously  well,  highly  accomplished 
in  music  or  with  some  other  art,  advocates  of  the  en- 
franchisement of  women.  The  War  came  just  too  soon. 
Had  Heaven  struck  down  that  epilept  Emperor  and  a  few 
of  his  ministers,  had  time  been  given  for  the  New  German 
Woman  to  assert  herself  in  politics,  there  would  have 
been  no  invasion  of  Belgium,  no  maltreatment  of  Servia. 
Germany  would  have  ranged  herself  with  the  Western 
powers  and  Western  culture. 

Minna  von  Stachelberg  read  her  cousin's  note  and  re- 
ceived the  worn  and  anxious-looking  Vivie  like  a  sis- 
ter .  .  .  like  a  comrade,  she  said,  in  the  War  for  the 
Vote  .  .  .  "  which  we  will  resume,  my  dear,  as  soon  as 
this  dreadful  Man's  war  is  over,  only  we  won't  fight  with 
the  same  weapons." 

But  though  kind,  she  was  not  gushing  and  she  soon 
told  Vivie  that  in  nursing  she  was  a  novice  and  had  much 
to  learn.  She  introduced  her  to  the  German  and  Belgian 
surgeons,  and  then  put  her  to  a  series  of  entirely  menial 
tasks  from  which  she  was  to  work  her  way  up  by  degrees. 
But  if  any  English  soldier  were  there  and  wanted  sym- 
pathy, she  should  be  called  in  to  his  ward  .  .  .  From  that 
interview  Vivie  returned  almost  happy. 

In  the  hot  summer  months  she  would  sometimes  be 
allowed  to  accompany  Red  Cross  surgeons  and  nurses  to 
the  station,  when  convoys  of  wounded  were  expected,  if 
there  was  likelihood  that  British  soldiers  would  be 
amongst  them.  These  would  cheer  up  at  the  sound  of 
her  pleasant  voice  speaking  their  tongue.  Yet  she  would 
witness  on  such  occasions  incongruous  incidents  of  Ger- 
man brutality.  Once  there  came  out  of  the  train  an  Eng- 
lish and  a  French  soldier,  great  friends  evidently.  They 
were  only  slightly  wounded  and  the  English  soldier 
stretched  his  limbs  cautiously  to  relieve  himself  of  cramp. 
At  that  moment  a  German  soldier  on  leave  came  up  and 
spat  in  his  face.     The  Frenchman  felled  the  German  with 


V, 


314  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

a  resounding  box  on-  the  ear.  Alarums!  Excursions! 
A  German  officer  rushed  up  to  enquire  while  the  French- 
man was  struggling  with  two  colossal  German  military 
policemen  and  the  Englishman  was  striving  to  free  him. 
Vivie  explained  to  the  officer  what  had  occurred.  He 
bowed  and  saluted :  seized  the  soldier-spitter  by  the  collar 
and  kicked  him  so  frightfully  that  Vivie  had  to  implore 
him  to  cease. 

Moreover  the  Red  Placards  of  von  Bissing  were  of 
increasing  frec[uency.  As  a  rule  Vivie  only  heard  what 
other  people  said  of  them,  and  that  wasn't  very  much, 
for  German  spies  were  everywhere,  inviting  you  to  follow 
them  to  the  dreaded  Kommandantur  in  the  Rue  de  la  Loi 
—  a  scene  of  as  much  in  the  way  of  horror  and  mental 
anguish  as  the  Conciergcrie  of  Paris  in  the  days  of  the 
Red  Terror.  But  some  cheek-blanching  rumour  she  had 
heard  on  a  certain  Monday  in  October  caused  her  to  look 
next  day  on  her  way  home  at  a  fresh  Red  Placard  which 
had  been  posted  up  in  a  public  place.  The  daylight  had 
almost  faded,  but  there  was  a  gas  lamp  which  made  the 
notice  legible.     It  ran : 

CONDAMNATIONS 

Par  jugement  du  9  Octobre,  1915,  le  tribunal  de  campagne  a  pro- 
nonce  les  condamnations  suivantes  pour  trahison  commise  pendant 
I'etat  de  guerre  (pour  avoir  fait  passer  des  recrues  a  Tennemi)  : 

1°  Philippe  Baucq,  architecte  a  Bruxelles; 

2°  Louise  Thuliez,  professeur  a  Lille; 

3°  Edith  Cavell,  directrice  d'un  institut  medical  a  Bruxelles; 

4°  Louis  Severin,  pharmacien  a  Bruxelles ; 

5°  Comtesse  Jeanne  de  Belleville,  a  Montignies. 
A  LA  PEINE  DE  MORT 

*  *  *  * 

Vivie  then  went  on  to  read  with  eyes  that  could  hardly 
take  in  the  words  a  list  of  other  names  of  men  and 
women  condemned  to  long  terms  of  hard  labour  for  the 
same  offence  —  assisting  young  Belgians  to  leave  the  Bel- 
gium that  was  under  German  occupation.     And  further, 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      315 

the   information  that  of  the  five  condemned  to   death, 
Philip  Baiick  and  Edith  Cavell  had  already  been  executed. 

^  ;)c  ^  H< 

The  monsters !  Oh  that  von  Bissing.  How  gladly 
she  would  die  if  she  might  first  have  the  pleasure  of  kill- 
ing him!  That  pompous  old  man  of  seventy-one  with 
the  blotched  face,  who  had  issued  orders  that  wherever 
he  passed  in  his  magnificent  motor  he  was  to  be  saluted 
with  Eastern  servility,  who  boasted  of  his  "  tender  heart," 
so  that  he  issued  placards  about  this  time  punishing  se- 
verely all  who  split  the  tongues  of  finches  to  make  them 
sing  better.  Edith  Cavell  —  she  did  not  pause  to  consider 
the  fate  of  patriotic  Belgian  women  —  but  Edith  Cavell, 
directress  of  a  nursing  home  in  Brussels,  known  far  and 
wide  for  her  goodness  of  heart.  She  had  held  aloof  from 
Vivie,  but  was  that  to  be  wondered  at  when  there  was  so 
much  to  make  her  suspect  —  living,  seemingly,  under  the 
i^rotection  of  a  German  official?  But  the  very  German 
nurses  and  doctors  at  the  Red  Cross  hospital  had  spoken 
of  her  having  given  free  treatment  in  her  Home  to  Ger- 
mans who  needed  immediate  operations,  and  for  whom 
there  was  no  room  in  the  military  hospitals  —  And  for 
such  a  trivial  offence  as  that  —  and  to  kill  her  before  there 
could  be  any  appeal  for  reconsideration  or  clemency.  Oh 
ivhat  a  nation!  She  would  tend  their  sick  and  wounded 
no  more. 

She  hurried  on  up  the  ascent  of  the  Boulevard  of  the 
Botanic  Garden  on  her  way  to  the  Rue  Royale.  She 
burst  into  von  Giesselin's  office.  He  was  not  there.  A 
clerk  looking  at  her  rather  closely  said  that  the  Herr 
Oberst  was  packing,  was  going  away.  Vivie  scarcely 
took  in  the  meaning  of  his  German  phrases.  She 
waited  there,  her  eyes  ablaze,  feeling  she  must  tell 
her  former  friend  and  protector  what  she  thought  of  his 


3i6  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

people  before  she  renounced  any  further  relations  with 
him. 

Presently  he  entered,  his  usually  rather  florid  face  pale 
with  intense  sorrow  or  worry,  his  manner  preoccupied. 
She  burst  out:  "Have  you  seen  the  Red  Placard  they 
have  just  put  up?  " 

"  What  about?  "  he  said  wearily. 

"  The  assassination  by  your  Government  of  Edith 
Cavell,  a  crime  for  which  England  —  yes,  and  America 
—  will  never  forgive  you.  .  .  .  From  this  moment 
I " 

"  But  have  you  not  heard  what  has  happened  to  me? 
I  am  dismissed  from  my  post  as  Secretary,  I  am  ordered 
to  rejoin  my  regiment  in  Lorraine  —  It  is  very  sad  about 
your  Miss  Cavell.  I  knew  nothing  of  it  till  this  morning 
when  I  received  my  ov.'n  dismissal  —  And  oh  my  dear 
Miss,  I  fear  we  shall  never  meet  again." 

"Why  are  they  sending  you  away?''  asked  Vivie 
drily,  compelled  to  interest  herself  in  his  affairs  since  they 
so  closely  affected  her  own  and  her  mother's. 

"  Because  of  this,"  said  von  Giesselin,  nearly  in  tears, 
pulling  from  a  small  portfolio  a  press  cutting.  "  Do  you 
remember  a  fortnight  ago  I  told  you  some  one,  some  Bel- 
gian had  written  a  beautiful  poem  and  sent  it  to  me  for 
one  of  our  newspapers?  I  showed  it  to  you  at  the  time 
and  you  said  —  you  said  '  it  was  well  enough,  but  it  did 
not  seem  to  have  much  point.'  "  Vivie  did  remember 
having  glanced  very  perfunctorily  at  some  effusion  in 
typewriting  which  had  seemed  unobjectionable  piffle. 
She  hadn't  cared  two  straws  whether  he  accepted -it  or  not, 
only  did  not  want  to  be  too  markedly  indift'erent.  Now 
she  took  it  up  and  still  read  it  through  uncomprehendingly, 
her  thoughts  absent  with  the  fate  of  Miss  Cavell.  "  Well ! 
what  is  all  the  fuss  about  ?  I  still  see  nothing  in  it.  It  is 
just  simply  the  ordinary  sentimental  flip-flap  that  a  French 
versifier  can  turn  out  by  the  yard." 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      317 

"  It  is  far  worse  than  that !  It  is  a  horrible  —  what 
the  French  call  '  acrostiche,'  a  deadly  insult  to  our  people. 
And  I  never  saw  it,  the  Editor  never  saw  it,  and  you, 
even,  never  guessed  its  real  meaning !  ^  The  original, 
as  you  say,  was  in  typewriting,  and  at  the  bottom  was 
the  name  and  address  of  a  very  well-known  homme  de 
lettres :  and  the  words :  '  Offert  a  la  redaction  de  I'Ami  de 
L'Ordre.'  He  say  now,  never  never  did  he  send  it.  It 
was  a  forgery.  When  we  came  to  understand  what  it 
meant  all  the  blame  fall  on  me.  I  am  sent  back  to  the 
Army  —  I  shall  be  killed  before  Verdun,  so  good-bye  dear 
Miss  —  We  have  been  good  friends.  Oh  this  War :  this 
d-r-r-eadful  War — It  has  spoilt  everything.  Now  we 
can  never  be  friends  with  England  again." 

He  gave  way  to  much  emotion.  Vivie,  though  still 
dazed  with  the  reverberating  horror  of  Edith  Cavell's 
execution,  tried  to  regain  her  mind  balance  and  thank  him 
for  the  kindness  he  had  shown  them.  But  it  was  now 
necessary  to  see  her  mother  who  might  also  be  under- 

1 1  have  obtained  a  copy  and  give  it  here  as  it  had  an  ahnost  his- 
torical importance  in  the  events  of  the  German  occupation.  But  the 
reader  must  interpret  its  meaning  for  himself. 

LA  GUERRE 

Ma  soeur,  vous  souvient-il  qu'aux  jours  de  notre  enfance. 
En  lisant  les  hauts  faits  de  I'histoire  de  France, 
Reniplis  d'admiration  pour  nos  freres  Gaulois, 
Des  generaux  fameux  nous  vantions  les  exploits? 

En   nos  ames  d'enfants,  les  seuls  noms  des  victoires 
Prcnaient  un  sens  mystique  evocateur  de  gloires; 
On   ne  revait  qu'assauts  et  combats;  a  nos  yeux 
Un  general  vainqueur  etait  I'egal  des  dieux. 

Rien  ne  sembiait  ternir  I'eclat  de  ces  conquetes. 
I  Les  batailles  prenaient  des  allures  de  fetes 

Et  nous  ne  songions  pas  qu'aux  hurrahs  triomphants 
Se  melaient  les  sanglots  des  meres,  des  enfants. 

Ah!  nous  la  connaissons,  helas,  I'horrible  guerre: 
Le  fleau  qui  punit  les  crimes  de  la  terre, 
Le  mot  qui  fait  trembler  les  meres  a  genoux 
Et  qui  seme  le  deuil  et  la  mort  parmi  nous! 

Mais  ou  sont  les  lauriers  que  reserve  I'Histoire 
A  celui  qui  demain  forcera  la  Victoire? 
Nul   ne  les  cueillira:   les  lauriers  sont  fletris 
Seul  un  cypres  s'eleve  aux  tombes  de  nos  fils. 


3i8  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

going  a  shock.  As  she  walked  nip  to  their  bedroom  she 
reflected  that  the  departure  of  von  Giessehn  would  have 
to  be  followed  by  their  own  exile  to  some  other  lodging. 
They  would  share  in  his  disgrace. 

The  next  morning  in  fact  the  Belgian  manager  of  the 
hotel  with  many  regrets  gave  them  a  month's  warning. 
The  hotel  would  be  required  for  some  undefined  need 
of  the  German  Government  and  he  had  been  told  no  one 
could  be  lodged  there  who  was  not  furnished  with  a  per- 
mit from  the  Kommandantur. 

For  three  weeks  Vivie  sought  in  vain  for  rooms. 
Every  suitable  place  was  either  full  or  else  for  reasons 
not  given  they  were  refused.  She  was  reduced  to  eating 
humble  pie,  to  writing  once  more  to  Grafin  von  Stachel- 
berg  and  imparting  the  dilemma  in  which  they  were 
placed.  Did  this  kind  lady  know  where  a  lodging  could 
be  obtained?  She  herself  could  put  up  with  any  discom- 
fort, but  her  mother  was  ill.  If  she  could  help  them, 
Vivie  would  humbly  beg  her  pardon  for  her  angry  letter 
of  three  weeks  ago  and  resume  her  hospital  work.  Minna 
von  Stachelberg  made  haste  to  reply  that  there  were  some 
things  better  not  discussed  in  writing  :  if  Vivie  could  come 
and  see  her  at  six  one  evening,  when  she  had  a  slight  re- 
mission from  work  — 

Vivie  went.  Out  of  hearing,  Grafin  von  Stachelberg 
—  who,  however,  to  facilitate  intercourse,  begged  Vivie  to 
call  her  "  Minna," — "  We  may  all  be  dead,  my  dear,  be- 
fore long  of  blood-poisoning,  bombs  from  your  aero- 
planes, a  rising  against  us  in  the  Marolles  quarter  — " 
said  very  plainly  what  she  thought  of  Edith  Cavell's  exe- 
cution. "  It  makes  me  think  of  Talleyrand  —  was  it 
not?  —  who  said  '  It  is  a  blunder;  worse  than  a  crime' 
.  .  .  these  terrible  old  generals,  they  know  nothing  of 
the  world  outside  Germany."  As  to  her  cousin,  Gottlieb 
von  Giesselin — "  Really  dear,  if  in  this  time  of  horrors 
one  dare  laugh  at  anything,  I  feel  —  oh  it  is  too  funny, 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      319 

but  also,  too  '  schokking,'  as  we  suppose  all  English 
women  sa}^  Yet  of  course  I  am  sad  about  him,  because 
he  is  a  good,  kind  man,  and  I  kno\v  his  wife  will  be  very 
very  unhappy  when  she  hears  —  And  it  means  he  will 
die,  for  certain.  He  must  risk  his  life  to  —  to  —  regain 
his  position,  and  he  will  be  shot  before  Verdun  in  one  of 
those  dreadful  assaults."  Then  she  told  Vivie  where  she 
might  find  rooms,  where  at  any  rate  she  could  use  her 
name  as  a  reference.  Also :  "  Stay  away  at  present  and 
look  after  your  mother.  When  she  is  quite  comfortably 
settled,  come  back  and  work  with  me  —  here  —  it  is  at 
any  rate  the  only  way  in  which  you  can  see  and  help  your 
countrymen." 

One  day  in  November  when  their  notice  at  the  hotel 
was  nearly  expired,  Vivie  proposed  an  expedition  to  her 
mother.  They  would  walk  slowly  —  because  ]\Irs.  War- 
ren now  got  easily  out  of  breath  —  up  to  the  Jardin 
Bontanique ;  Vivie  would  leave  her  there  in  the  Palm 
House.  It  was  warm ;  it  was  little  frequented  ;  there  were 
seats  and  the  Belgians  in  charge  knew  Airs.  Warren  of  old 
time.  Vivie  would  then  go  on  along  the  inner  Boule- 
vards by  tram  and  look  at  some  rooms  recommended  by 
]\Iinna  von  Stachelberg  in  the  Ouartier  St.  Gilles. 

Mrs.  Warren  did  as  she  was  told.  Vivie  left  her 
seated  in  one  of  the  long  series  of  glass  houses  overlooking 
Brussels  from  a  terrace,  wherein  are  assembled  many 
glories  of  the  tropics:  palms,  dracaenas,  yuccas,  aloes, 
tree-ferns,  cycads,  screw-pines,  and  bananas :  promising 
to  be  back  in  an  hour's  time. 

Somehow  as  she  sat  there  it  seemed  to  Mrs.  Warren 
it  was  going  for  her  to  be  the  last  hour  of  fully  conscious 
life  —  fully  conscious  and  yet  a  curious  mingling  in  it 
of  the  past  and  present.  She  had  sat  here  in  the  middle 
of  the  'seventies  with  Vivie's  father,  the  young  Irish 
seminarist,  her  lover  for  six  months.  He  had  a  vague 
interest  in  botany,  and  during  his  convalescence   after 


320  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

his  typhoid  fever,  when  she  was  still  his  nurse,  not  yet 
his  mistress,  she  used  to  bring  him  here  to  rest  and  to 
enjoy  the  aspect  of  these  ferns  and  palms.  What  a 
strange  variety  of  men  she  had  known.  Some  she  had 
loved,  more  or  less ;  some  she  had  exploited  frankly. 
Some  —  like  George  Crofts  and  Baxendale  Strangeways 
—  she  had  feared,  though  in  her  manner  she  had  tried 
to  conceal  her  dread  of  their  violence.  Well!  she  had 
taken  a  lot  of  money  off  the  rich,  1  :t  she  had  never 
plundered  the  poor.  Her  greatest  conquest — ^  and  that 
when  she  was  a  woman  of  forty — was  the  monarch  of 
this  very  country  which  now  lay  crushed  under  the 
Kaiser's  heel.  For  a  few  months  he  had  taken  a  whim- 
sical liking  to  her  handsome  face,  well-preserved  figure, 
and  amusing  cockney  talk.  But  he  had  employed  her 
rather  as  the  mistress  of  his  menus  plaisirs,  as  his  re- 
cruiting agent.  He  had  rewarded  her  handsomely.  Now 
it  was  all  in  the  dust:  her  beautiful  Villa  Beau-sejour  a 
befouled  barrack  for  German  soldiers.  She  herself  a 
homeless  woman,  repudiated  by  the  respectable  British  and 
Americans  more  or  less  interned  in  this  unhappy  city. 

Not  much  more  than  a  year  ago  she  had  been  one  of 
the  most  respected  persons  in  Brussels,  with  a  large  in- 
come derived  from  safe  investments.  Now  all  she  had 
for  certain  was  something  over  three  thousand  pounds 
in  bank  notes  that  might  turn  out  next  month  to  be  worth- 
less paper.  And  was  she  certain  even  of  them?  Had 
Vivie  before  they  left  the  hotel  remembered  to  put  some, 
at  least,  of  this  precious  sum  on  her  person?  Suppose, 
whilst  they  were  out,  looking  for  a  fresh  dwelling  place, 
the  hotel  servants  or  the  police  raided  her  bedroom  and 
found  the  little  hoard  of  notes?  This  imagined  danger 
made  her  want  to  cry.  They  were  so  friendless  now,  she 
in  particular  felt  so  completely  deserted.  Had  she  de- 
served this  punishment  by  Fate?  Was  there  after  all  a 
God  who  minded  much  about  the  sex  foolishnesses  and 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      321 

punished  you  for  irregularities  —  for  having  lovers  in 
your  youth,  for  selling  your  virtue  and  inducing  other 
women  to  sell  theirs?  Was  she  going  to  die  soon  and 
w^as  there  a  hereafter?  She  burst  out  crying  in  an  aban- 
donment of  grief. 

An  elderly  gardener  who  had  been  snipping  and  sweep- 
ing in  the  next  house  came  up  and  vaguely  recognized 
her  as  a  well-known  Bruxelloise,  a  good-natured  lady,  a 
foreigner  who,  strange  to  say,  spoke  Flemish.  "  Ach," 
he  said,  looking  out  where  he  thought  lay  the  source  of 
her  tears,  at  the  dim  view  of  beautiful  Brussels  through 
the  steamy  glass,  "  Onze  arme,  oude  Brussel."  Mrs. 
Warren  wept  unrestrainedly.  "  Madame  is  ill?  "  he  en- 
quired. Mrs.  Warren  nodded  —  she  felt  indeed  very  ill 
and  giddy.  He  left  her  and  returned  shortly  with  a  small 
glass  of  Schnapps.  "If  Madame  is  faint — ?"  She 
sipped  the  cordial  and  presently  felt  better.  Then  they 
talked  of  old  times.  Madame  had  kept  the  Hotel  Leopold 
II  in  the  Rue  Royale?  Ah,  now  he  placed  her.  A 
superb  establishment,  always  well-spoken  of.  Her  self- 
respect  returned  a  little.  "  Yes,''  she  said,  "  never  a  com- 
plaint !  I  looked  after  those  girls  like  a  mother,  indeed 
I  did.  Many  a  one  married  well  from  there."  The 
gardener  corroborated  her  statement,  and  added  that  her 
clientele  had  been  of  the  most  chic.  He  had  a  private 
florist's  business  of  his  own  and  he  had  been  privileged 
often  to  send  bouquets  to  the  pensionnaires  of  Madame. 
But  Madame  was  not  alone  surely  in  these  sad  times. 
Had  he  not  seen  her  come  here  with  a  handsome  English 
lady  who  was  said  to  have  been  —  to  have  been  —  for- 
tunately —  au  mieux  with  one  of  the  German  officials  ? 

"  That  was  my  daughter,"  Mrs.  Warren  informed  him 
with  pride.  ..."  She  is  a  lady  who  has  taken  a  high 
degree  at  an  English  University.  She  has  been  an  im- 
portant person  in  the  English  feminist  movement.  When 
this  dreadful  war  is  over,  I  and  my  daughter  will  — " 


322  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

At  this  juncture  Vivie  entered.  "Mother,  I  hope  you 
haven't  missed  me,  haven't  been  unwell?  "  she  said,  look- 
ing rather  questioningly  at  the  little  glass  of  Schnapps, 
only  half  of  which  had  been  drunk. 

"  Well  yes,  dear,  I  have.  Terrible  low  spirits  and  all 
swimmy-like.  Thought  I  was  going  to  faint.  But  this 
man  here  has  been  so  kind  " —  her  tears  flowed  afresh  — 
"We've  bin  talking  of  old  times;  he  used  to  know  me 
before " 

Vivie:  "  Quite  so.  But  I  think,  dear,  we  had  better 
be  going  back.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  the  new 
rooms  I've  seen.  Are  you  equal  to  walking?  If  not 
perhaps  this  kind  man  would  try  to  get  us  a  cab.  .  .  .?  " 

But  Mrs.  Warren  said  it  vi^as  no  distance,  only  round 
the  corner,  and  she  could  well  walk.  When  they  got  back 
she  would  go  and  lie  down.  Vivie,  reading  her  mother's 
thoughts,  pressed  a  five- franc  note  into  the  gardener's  not 
reluctant  palm,  and  they  regained  the  Rue  Royale. 

But  just  as  they  were  passing  through  the  revolving 
door  of  the  Hotel  Imperial,  a  German  who  had  been 
installed  as  manager  came  up  with  two  soldiers  and  said 
explosively :  "  Heraus !  Foutez-nous  le  camp !  Aout 
you  go!     Don't  show  your  face  here  again!  " 

"  But,"  said  Vivie,  "  our  notice  doesn't  expire  till  the 
end  of  this  week  .  .  . !  " 

"  Das  macht  nichts.  The  rooms  are  wanted  and  I 
won't  have  you  on  the  premises.  Off  you  go,  or  these 
soldiers  shall  take  you  both  round  to  the  Komman- 
dantur." 

"  But  our  luggage  ?  Surely  you  will  let  me  go  up  to 
our  room  and  pack  it  —  and  take  it  away?     We.  .  ." 

"  Your  luggage  has  been  packed  and  is  in  the  corridor. 
If  you  send  round  for  it,  it  shall  be  delivered  to  your 
messenger.  But  you  are  not  to  stop  on  the  premises  an- 
other minute.     You  understand  ?  "  he  almost  shrieked. 

"But " 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      323 

For  answer,  the  soldiers  took  them  by  the  shoulders 
and  whirled  them  through  the  revolving  door  on  to  the 
pavement,  where  a  crowd  began  to  collect,  as  it  does  in 
peace  or  war  if  you  cough  twice  or  sneeze  three  times 
in  Brussels.  "  Englische  Hure !  Englische  Kiipplerin," 
shouted  the  soldiers  as  they  retreated  and  locked  the  re- 
volving door.  Mrs.  Warren  turned  purple  and  swayed. 
Vivie  caught  her  round  the  waist  with  her  strong  arm. 
.  .  .  Thus  was  Mrs.  Warren  ejected  from  the  once 
homely  inn  which  she  had  converted  by  her  energy,  man- 
agement and  capital  into  the  second  most  magnificent 
hostelry  of  Brussels ;  thus  was  Vivie  expelled  from  the 
place  of  her  birth.  ,  .  . 

Hearing  the  shouting  and  seeing  the  crowd  a  Belgian 
gendarme  came  up.  To  him  Vivie  said,  "  Si  vous  etes 
Chretien  et  pas  Allemand "  "  Prenez  garde,  Ma- 
dame," he  said  warningly — "Vous  m'aiderez  a  porter 
ma  mere  a  quelqu'  endroit  ou  elle  pent  se  remettre.  .  .  ." 

He  assisted  her  to  carry  the  inert  old  woman  across  the 
street  and  a  short  distance  along  the  opposite  pavement. 
Here,  there  was  a  pleasant,  modest-looking  tea-shop  with 
the  name  of  Walcker  over  the  front,  and  embedded  in  the 
plate  glass  were  the  words  "  Tea  Rooms.''  These  of 
course  dated  from  long  before  the  war,  when  the  best 
Chinese  tea  was  only  four  francs  the  demi-kilo  and  the 
fashion  for  afternoon  tea  had  become  established  in  Brus- 
sels. Vivie  and  her  mother  had  often  entered  Walcker's 
shop  in  happier  days  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  delicious  forms 
of  home-made  pastry.  Besides  the  cakes,  which  in  pre- 
war times  were  of  an  excellence  rarely  equalled,  they  had 
been  drawn  to  the  pleasant-looking  serving  woman.  She 
was  so  English  in  appearance,  though  she  only  spoke 
French  and  Flemish.  Behind  the  shop  was  a  cosy  little 
room  where  the  more  intimate  clients  were  served  with 
tea ;  a  room  with  a  look-out  into  a  little  square  of  garden. 
Thither   Mrs.   Warren  v^-as  carried  or   supported.     She 


324  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

regained  consciousness  slightly  as  she  was  placed  on  a 
chair,  opened  her  eyes,  and  said  "  Thank  you,  my  dears." 
Then  her  head  fell  over  to  one  side  and  she  was  dead  — 
seemingly.   .   .  , 

The  agent  de  police  went  away  to  fetch  a  doctor  and 
to  disperse  the  crowd  of  ketjes  ^  and  loafers  which  had 
transferred  itself  from  the  hotel  to  the  tea-shop.  The 
shop  woman,  who  was  one  of  those  angels  of  kindness 
that  turn  up  unexpectedly  in  the  paths  of  unhappy 
people,  called  in  a  stout  serving  wench  from  the  kitchen, 
and  the  three  of  them  carried  Mrs.  Warren  out  of  the 
inner  tea-room  into  the  back  premises  and  a  spare  bed- 
room. Here  she  was  laid  on  the  bed,  partially  undressed 
and  all  available  and  likely  restoratives  applied. 

The  doctor  when  he  came  pronounced  her  dead,  thought 
it  was  probably  an  effusion  of  blood  on  the  brain  but 
couldn't  be  certain  till  he  had  made  an  autopsy. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?  ''  said  Vivie  thinking  aloud.  .  .  . 

"  Why,  stay  here  till  all  the  formalities  are  over  and 
you  can  find  rooms  elsewhere,"  said  Mme.  Trouessart,  the 
owner-servant  of  the  tea-shop.  "  I  have  another  spare 
room.  For  the  moment  my  locataires  are  gone.  I  know 
you  both  very  well  by  sight,  you  were  clients  of  ours  in 
the  happy  days  before  the  War.  Madame  votre  mere 
was,  I  think,  the  gerante  of  the  Hotel  Edouard-Sept  when 

I  first  came  to  manage  here.  Since  then,  you  have  often 
drunk  my  tea.  Je  me  nomme  '  Trouessart  '  c'est  le  nom 
de  mon  mari  qui  est  .  .  .  qui  est  —  Vous  pouvez  diviner 
ou  il  est,  ou  est  a  present  tout  Beige  loyal  qui  pent  servir. 
Le  nom  Walcker?  C'etait  le  nom  de  nom  pere,  et  de  plus 
est,  c'etait  un  nom  Anglais  trans  forme  un  peu  en 
Flamand.     Mon  arriere-grand-pere  etait  soldat  Anglais. 

II  se  battait  a  Waterloo.  For  me,  I  spik  no  English  — 
or  ver'  leetle." 

1  Street   urchins   of    Brussels.     How   they  harassed   the   Germans 
and  maddened  them  by  mimicking  their  military  manoeuvres ! 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      325 

She  went  on  to  explain,  whilst  the  doctors  occupied 
themselves  with  their  gruesome  task,  and  Vivie  was  being 
persuaded  to  take  some  nourishment,  that  her  great  grand- 
father had  been  a  soldier  servant  who  had  married  a 
Belgian  woman  and  settled  down  on  the  site  of  this  very 
shop  a  hundred  years  ago.  He  and  his  wife  had  even  then 
made  a  specialty  of  tea  for  English  tourists.  She,  his 
great  grand-daughter,  had  after  her  marriage  to  Monsieur 
Trouessart  carried  on  the  business  under  the  old  name  — 
Walker,  made  to  look  Flemish  as  Walck'er. 

Vivie  when  left  alone  suddenly  thought  of  the  money 
question.  She  remembered  then  that  before  going  out  to 
look  for  rooms  she  had  transferred  half  the  notes  from 
their  hiding-place  to  an  inner  pocket.  They  were  still 
there.  But  what  about  her  luggage  and  her  mother's,  and 
the  remainder  of  the  money?  In  her  distress  she  wrote 
to  Grafin  von  Stachelberg.  Minna  came  over  from  her 
hospital  at  half  past  six  in  the  evening.  By  that  time  the 
doctor  had  given  the  necessary  certificate  of  the  cause  of 
death,  and  an  undertaker  had  come  on  the  scene  to  make 
his  preparations. 

Minna  went  over  to  the  Hotel  Imperial  with  Vivie. 
Appearing  in  her  Red  Cross  uniform,  she  was  admitted, 
announced  herself  as  the  Grafin  von  Stachelberg,  and  de- 
manded to  know  what  justification  the  manager  could 
offer  for  his  extraordinary  brutality  to\^'ards  these 
English  ladies,  the  result  of  which  had  been  the  death  of 
the  elder  lady.  The  manager  replied  that  inasmuch  as 
the  All  Highest  himself  was  to  arrive  that  very  evening 
to  take  up  his  abode  at  the  Hotel  Imperial,  the  hotel 
premises  had  been  requisitioned,  etc.,  etc.  He  still  re- 
fused absolutely  to  allow  Vivie  to  proceed  to  her  room  and 
look  for  her  money.  She  might  perhaps  be  allowed  to  do 
so  when  the  Emperor  was  gone.  As  to  her  luggage  he 
would  have  it  sent  over  to  the  tea-shop.  (The  money,  it 
might  be  noted,  she  never  recovered.     There  were  many 


326  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

things  also  missing  from  her  mother's  trunks  and  no  satis- 
faction was  ever  obtained.) 

So  there  was  Vivie,  one  dismal,  rainy  November  eve- 
ning in  191 5 ;  homeless,  her  mother  lying  dead  in  a  room 
of  this  tea-shop,  and  in  her  own  pocket  only  a  matter  of 
thirty  thousand  francs  to  provide  for  her  till  the  War  was 
over.  A  thousand  pounds  in  fluctuating  value  was  all 
that  was  left  of  a  nominal  twenty  thousand  of  the  year 
before. 

But  the  financial  aspect  of  the  case  for  the  time  being 
did  not  concern  her.  The  death  of  her  mother  had  been 
a  stunning  shock,  and  when  she  crossed  over  to  the  hotel 
—  what  irony,  by  the  bye,  to  think  she  had  been  born 
there  thirty-nine  years  ago,  in  the  old  inn  that  had  pre- 
ceded the  twice  rebuilt  hotel !  —  when  she  crossed  the 
street  with  Minna,  it  had  been  with  blazing,  tearless  eyes 
and  the  desire  to  take  the  hotel  manager  and  his  minions  by 
the  coat  collar,  fling  tlicui  into  the  street,  and  assert  her 
right  to  go  up  to  her  room.  But  now  her  violence  was 
spent  and  she  was  a  broken,  weeping  woman  as  she  sat 
all  night  by  the  bedside  of  her  dead  mother,  holding  the 
cold  hand,  imprinting  kisses  on  the  dead  face  which  was 
now  that  of  a  saintly  person  with  nothing  of  the  reprobate 
in  its  lineaments. 

*  *  *  * 

The  burial  for  various  reasons  had  to  take  place  in  the 
Cemetery  of  St.  Josse-ten-Noode,  near  the  shuddery  Na- 
tional Shooting  Range  where  Edith  Cavell  and  numerous 
Belgian  patriots  had  recently  been  executed.  Minna  von 
Stachelberg  left  her  hospital,  with  some  one  else  in  charge, 
and  insisted  on  accompanying  Vivie  to  the  interment. 
This  might  have  been  purely  "laic  ";  not  on  account  of 
any  harsh  dislike  to  the  religious  ceremony  on  Vivie's 
part;  only  due  to  the  fact  that  she  knew  no  priest  or 
pastor.     But  there  appeared  at  the  grave-side  to  make  a 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      327 

ver)^  suitable  and  touching  discourse  and  to  utter  one  or 
two  heartfelt  prayers,  a  Belgian  Baptist  minister,  a  rela- 
tion of  Mme.  Trouessart. 

Waterloo  left  many  curious  things  behind  it.  Not  only 
a  tea-shop  or  two;  but  a  Nonconformist  nucleus,  that 
intermarried,  as  Sergeant  Walker  or  Walcker  had  done, 
with  Belgian  women  and  left  descendants  who  in  the  third 
generation  —  and  by  inherent  vigour,  thrift,  matrimony 
and  conversion  —  had  built  up  quite  a  numerous  congre- 
gation, which  even  grew  large  enough  and  rich  enough  to 
maintain  a  mission  of  its  own  in  Congoland.  Kind  Mme. 
Trouessart  (nee  Walcker),  distressed  and  unusually 
moved  at  the  sad  circumstances  of  Mrs.  Warren's  death, 
had  called  in  her  uncle  the  Baptist  pastor  (who  also  in 
some  unexplained  way  seemed  to  hold  a  brief  for  the 
Salvation  Army).  He  prayed  silently  by  the  death-bed 
which,  under  the  circumstances,  was  more  tactful  than 
open  intercession.  He  helped  greatly  over  all  the  for- 
malities of  the  funeral,  and  he  took  upon  himself  the 
arrangement  of  the  ceremony,  so  that  everything  was  done 
decorously,  and  certainly  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Bel- 
gians, who  attended.  Such  people  would  be  large- 
minded  in  religion  —  you  might  be  Protestant,  if  you 
were  not  Catholic,  or  you  might  be  Jewish ;  but  a  funeral 
without  some  outward  sign  of  faith  and  hope  would  have 
puzzled  and  distressed  them. 

To  Vivie's  great  surprise,  there  was  a  considerable  at- 
tendance at  the  ceremony.  She  had  expected  no  more 
than  the  company  of  Minna  —  an  unprofessing  but  real 
Christian,  if  ever  there  were  one,  and  the  equally  Chris- 
tian if  equally  hedonist  Mme.  Trouessart.  But  there 
came  in  addition  quite  a  number  of  shopkeepers  from  the 
Rue  Royale,  the  Rues  de  Schaerbeek,  du  Marais,  de  Lione, 
and  de  I'Association,  with  whom  Mrs.  Warren  had  dealt 
in  years  gone  by.  "  C'etait  une  dame  ires  convenable," 
said  one  purveyor,  and  the  others  agreed.     "  Elle  me  paya 


328  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

ecus  sonnants,"  said  another,  "  et  toujours  sans  mar- 
chander."  There  was  even  present  a  more  distinguished 
acquaintance  of  the  past :  a  long-retired  Commissaire  de 
Police  of  the  Quartier  in  which  Airs.  Warren's  hotel  was 
situated. 

He  appeared  in  the  tightly-buttoned  frock-coat  of  civil 
life,  with  a  minute  disc  of  some  civic  decoration  in  his 
button  hole,  and  an  incredibly  tall  chimney-pot  hat.  He 
came  to  render  his  rcspectucux  hommagcs  to  the 
maitresse-femme  who  had  conducted  her  business  within 
the  four  corners  of  the  law,  "  sans  avoir  maille  a  partir 
avec  la  police  des  moeurs." 

Mrs.  Warren  at  least  died  with  the  reputation  of  one 
who  promptly  paid  her  bills ;  and  the  whole  assistance, 
as  it  walked  slowly  back  to  Brussels,  recalled  many  a  deed 
of  kindness  and  jovial  charity  on  the  part  of  the  dead 
Englishwoman. 

*  *  *  * 

Vivie,  on  sizing  up  her  affairs,  got  Monsieur  Walcker, 
the  Baptist  pasteur,  to  convey  a  letter  to  the  American 
Consulate  General.  Walcker  was  used  to  such  missions 
as  these,  of  which  the  German  Government  was  more  or 
less  cognizant.  The  Germans,  among  their  many  contra- 
dictory features,  had  a  great  respect  for  religion,  a  great 
tolerance  as  to  its  forms.  They  not  only  appreciated  the 
difference  between  Jews  and  Christians,  Catholics  and 
Lutherans,  but  between  the  Church  of  England  and  the 
various  Free  Churches  of  Britain  and  America.  The 
many  people  whom  they  sentenced  to  death  must  all  have 
their  appropriate  religious  consolation  before  facing  the 
firing  party.  Catholics,  Lutherans  and  Calvinists  were 
all  provided  for;  there  was  a  Church  of  England  chaplain 
for  the  avowed  Anglicans;  but  what  was  to  be  done  for 
the  Free  Churches  and  Nonconformist  sects  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons?     They   were   not    represented    by    any   captive 


THE  GERMANS  IN  BRUSSELS:  1915-1916      329 

pastor;  so  in  default  this  much  respected  Monsieur 
Walcker,  the  Belgian  Baptist,  was  called  in  to  minister  to 
the  Nonconformist  mind  in  its  last  agony.  He  therefore 
held  a  quasi-official  position  and  was  often  entrusted 
with  missions  which  would  have  been  dealt  with  puni- 
torily  on  the  part  of  any  one  else.  Consequently  he  was 
able  to  deliver  Vivie's  communication  to  the  American 
Consul-General  with  some  probability  of  its  being  sent  on. 
It  contained  no  further  appeal  to  American  intervention 
than  this :  that  the  Consul-General  would  try  to  convey  to 
England  the  news  of  her  mother's  death  to  such-and-such 
solicitors,  and  to  Lewis  Maitland  Praed  A.R.A.  in  Hans 
Place. 

She  went  to  the  Brussels  bank  a  fortnight  after  her 
mother's  death  whilst  still  availing  herself  of  the  hos- 
pitality of  Madame  Trouessart :  to  withdraw  the  jewellery 
and  plate  which  she  had  deposited  there  on  her  mother's 
account.  But  there  she  found  herself  confronted  with 
the  red  tape  of  the  Latin  which  is  more  formidable,  even, 
than  that  of  the  land  of  Dora  at  the  present  day.  These 
deposited  articles  were  held  on  the  order  of  Mrs.  Warren; 
they  could  not  be  given  up  till  her  will  was  proved  and 
letters  of  administration  had  been  granted.  So  that  small 
resource  in  funds  was  withheld,  at  any  rate  till  some  time 
after  peace  had  been  declared.  However  she  had  a  thou- 
sand pounds  (in  notes)  between  her  and  penury,  and  the 
friendship  of  Minna  von  Stachelberg.  She  would  resume 
her  evening  lessons  in  English  —  Madame  Trouessart  had 
found  her  several  pupils  —  and  she  would  lodge  —  as  they 
kindly  invited  her  to  do  —  with  the  Baptist  pastor  and 
his  wife  in  the  Rue  Haute.  And  she  would  help  Minna 
at  the  hospital,  and  hope  to  be  rewarded  with  the  oppor- 
tunity of  bringing  comfort  and  consolation  to  the 
wounded  British  prisoners. 

Thus,  with  no  unbearable  misery,  she  passed  the  year 
19 1 6.     There  were  short  commons  in  the  way  of  food. 


s 


330  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

and  the  cold  was  sometimes  cruel.  But  Madame  Walcker 
was  a  wonderful  cook  and  could  make  soup  from  a 
sausage  skewer,  and  heaped  cdredons  on  Vivie's  bed. 
Vivie  sighed  a  little  over  the  Blue  Placards  which  an- 
nounced endless  German  victories  by  land  and  sea ;  and 
she  gasped  over  the  dreadful  Red  Placards  with  their  lists 
of  victims  sentenced  to  death  by  the  military  courts.  She 
ground  her  teeth  over  the  announcement  of  Gabrielle 
Petit's  condemnation,  and  behind  the  shut  door  of  Minna's 
small  sitting-room  —  and  she  only  shut  the  door  not  to 
compromise  Minna —  she  raved  over  the  judicial  murder 
of  this  Belgian  heroine,  who  was  shot,  as  was  Edith 
Cavell,  for  nothing  more  than  assisting  young  Belgians  to 
escape  from  German-occupied  Belgium. 

She  witnessed  the  air-raids  of  the  Allies,  when  only 
comforting  papers  were  dropped  on  Brussels  city,  but 
bombs  on  the  German  aerodromes  outside ;  and  she  also 
saw  the  Germans  turn  tlieir  guns  from  the  aeroplanes  — 
which  soared  high  out  of  their  reach  or  skimmed  below 
range  —  on  to  thickly-inhabited  streets  of  the  poorer 
quarters,  to  teach  them  to  cheer  the  air-craft  of  the  Allies ! 

She  beheld  —  or  she  was  told  of  —  many  acts  of  rapine, 
considered  cruelty  and  unreasoning  ferocity  on  the  part 
of  German  officials  or  soldiers ;  yet  sav/  or  heard  of  acts 
and  episodes  of  unlooked-for  kindness,  forbearance  and 
sympathy  from  the  same  hated  people.  Von  Giesselin, 
after  all,  was  a  not  uncommon  type ;  and  as  to  Minna  von 
Stachelberg,  she  was  a  saint  of  the  New  Religion,  the 
Service  of  Man. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE    BOMB    IN    PORTLAND    PLACE 

MRS.  ROSSITER  said  to  herself  in  191 5  that  she 
had  scarce!}^  known  a  happy  day,  or  even  hour, 
since  the  War  began.  In  the  first  place  Michael  had  again 
shown  violence  of  temper  with  ministers  of  state  over  the 
release  from  prison  of  "  that  "  Miss  Warren  — "  a  con- 
vict doing  a  sentence  of  hard  labour."  And  then,  when 
he  had  got  her  released,  and  gone  himself  with  their 
beautiful  new  motor  —  whatever  conld  the  chauffeur  have 
thought  ?  —  to  meet  her  at  the  prison  gates,  there  he  was, 
afterwards,  worrying  himself  over  the  War:  not  content 
as  she  was,  as  most  of  her  friends  were,  as  the  newspapers 
were,  to  leave  it  all  to  Lord  Kitchener  and  Mr.  Asquith, 
Sir  Edward  Grey,  and  even  Mr.  Lloyd  George  —  though 
the  latter  had  made  some  rather  foolish  and  exaggerated 
speeches  about  Alcohol.  Michael,  if  he  went  on  like  this, 
would  never  get  his  knighthood ! 

Then  when  Michael  had  at  last,  thanks  to  General  Arm- 
strong, found  his  right  place  and  was  accomplishing  mar- 
vels —  the  papers  said  —  as  a  "  mender  of  the  maimed  " 
—  here  was  she  left  alone  in  Portland  Place  with  hardly 
any  one  to  speak  to,  and  all  her  acquaintances  —  she  now 
realized  they  were  scarcely  her  friends  —  too  much  occu- 
pied w'ith  w^ar  work  to  spend  an  afternoon  in  discussing 
nothing  very  important  over  a  sumptuous  tea,  still  served 
by  a  butler  and  footman. 

Presently,  too,  the  butler  left  to  join  the  Professor  in 
France  and  the  footman  enlisted,  and  the  tea  had  to  be 
served  by  a  distraite  parlour-maid,  with  her  eye  on  a  mu- 

331 


332  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

nitions  factory  —  so  that  she  might  be  "  in  it  " —  and  her 
heart  in  the  keeping  of  the  footman,  who,  since  he  had 
gone  into  khaki,  was  irresistible. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  of  course  said,  in  1914,  that  she  would 
take  up  war  work.  She  subscribed  most  handsomely  to 
the  Soldiers'  and  Sailors'  Families'  Association,  to  the 
Red  Cross,  to  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Fund  (one  of  the 
unsolved  war-time  mysteries.  .  .  .  what's  become  of 
it?),  to  the  Cigarette  Fund,  the  1914  Christmas  Plum 
Pudding  Fund,  the  Blue  Cross,  the  Purple  Cross,  the 
Green  Cross  funds ;  to  the  outstandingly  good  work  at  St. 
Dunstan's  and  at  Petersham —  (I  am  glad  she  gave  a 
Hundred  pounds  each  to  them);  and  to  the  French,  Bel- 
gian, Russian,  Italian,  Serbian,  Portuguese  and  Japanese 
Flag  Days  and  to  Our  Own  Day ;  besides  enriching  a  num- 
ber of  semi-fraudulent  war  charities  which  had  alluring 
titles. 

But  if,  from  paying  handsomely  to  all  these  praise- 
worthy endeavours  to  mitigate  the  horrors  of  war,  she 
proceeded  to  render  personal  service,  she  became  the  de- 
spair of  the  paid  organizers  and  business-like  workers. 
She  couldn't  add  and  she  couldn't  subtract  or  divide  with 
any  certainty  of  a  correct  result;  she  couldn't  spell  the 
more  difficult  words  or  remember  the  right  letters  to  put 
after  distinguished  persons'  names  when  she  addressed 
envelopes  in  her  large,  childish  handwriting ;  she  couldn't 
be  trusted  to  make  enquiries  or  to  detect  fraudulent  ap- 
peals. She  lost  receipts  and  never  grasped  the  importance 
of  vouchers;  she  forgot  to  fill  up  counterfoils,  or  if  re- 
minded filled  them  up  "  from  memory "  so  that  they 
didn't  tally;  she  signed  her  name,  if  there  was  any  choice 
of  blank  spaces,  in  quite  the  wrong  place. 

So,  invariably,  tactful  secretaries  or  assistant  secre- 
taries were  told  off  to  explain  to  her  —  ever  so  nicely  — 
that  "  she  was  no  business  woman  "  (this,  to  the  daughter 
of  wholesale  manufacturers,  sounded  rather  flattering), 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       333 

and  that  though  she  was  invaluable  as  a  "  name,"  as  a 
patroness,  or  one  of  eighteen  Vice  Presidents,  she  was 
of  no  use  whatever  as  a  worker. 

She  had  no  country  house  to  place  at  the  disposal  of 
the  Government  as  a  convalescent  home.  Michael  after  a 
few  experiments  forbade  her  offering  any  hospitality  at 
No.  I  Park  Crescent  to  invalid  officers.  Such  as  were 
entrusted  to  her  in  the  spring  of  19 15  soon  found  that 
she  was  —  as  they  phrased  it  — "  a  pompous  little,  middle- 
class  fool,"  wielding  no  authority.  They  larked  in  the 
laboratorv  with  Red  Cross  nurses,  broke  specimens,  and 
did  very  unkind  and  noisy  things  .  ,  .  besides  smoking 
in  both  the  large  and  the  small  dining-rooms.  So,  after 
the  summer  of  191 5,  she  lived  very  much  alone,  except 
that  she  had  the  Adams  children  from  Marylebone  to 
spend  the  day  with  her  occasionally. 

Poor  Mrs.  Adams,  though  a  valiant  worker,  was  very 
downcast  and  unhappy.  She  confided  to  Mrs.  Rossiter 
that  although  she  dearly  loved  her  Bert  — "  and  a  better 
husband  I  defy  you  to  find  " —  he  never  seemed  all  hers. 
"  Always  so  wrapped  up  in  that  Miss  Warren  or  'er 
cousin  the  barrister."  And  no  sooner  had  war  broken 
out  than  oft"  he  was  to  France,  as  a  kind  of  missionary, 
she  believed  —  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Something  or 
other;  "though  before  the  War  he  didn't  seem  par- 
ticular stuck  on  religion,  and  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  get 
him  sometimes  to  church  on  a  Sunday  morning.  Oh  yes  : 
she  got  'er  money  all  right;  and  she  couldn't  say  too 
much  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rossiter's  kindness.  There  was 
Bert,  not  doin'  a  stroke  of  work  for  the  Professor,  and  yet 
his  pay  going  on  all  the  same.  Indeed  she  was  putting 
money  by,  because  Bert  was  kep'  out  there,  and  all  found." 

However  his  two  pretty  children  were  some  consolation 
to  Mrs.  Rossiter,  whom  they  considered  as  a  very  grand 
lady  and  one  that  was  lavishly  kind. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  tried  sometimes  in  19 15  having  working 


334  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

parties  in  her  house  or  in  the  studio;  and  if  she  could 
attract  workers  gave  them  such  elaborate  lunches  and 
plethoric  teas  that  very  little  work  was  done,  especially  as 
she  herself  loved  a  long,  aimless  gossip  about  the  Royal 
Family  or  whether  Lord  Kitchener  had  ever  really  been 
in  love.  Or  she  tried,  since  she  was  a  poor  worker  her- 
self —  her  only  jersey  and  muffler  were  really  finished  by 
her  maid  —  reading  aloud  to  the  knitters  or  stitchers, 
preferably  from  the  works  of  Miss  Charlotte  Yonge  or 
some  similar  novelist  of  a  later  date.  But  that  was  found 
to  be  too  disturbing  to  their  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  For 
she  read  very  stiltedly,  with  a  strange  exotic  accent  for  the 
love  passages  or  the  death  scenes.  As  Lady  Victoria 
Freebooter  said,  she  would  have  been  priceless  at  a  music- 
hall  matinee  which  was  raising  funds  for  war  charities, 
if  only  she  could  have  been  induced  to  read  passages  from 
Miss  Yonge  in  tliot  voice  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Even 
the  Queen  would  have  had  to  laugh. 

But  as  that  could  not  be  brought  off,  it  was  decided  that 
working  parties  at  her  house  led  to  too  much  giddiness 
from  suppressed  giggles  or  torpor  from  too  much  food. 
So  she  relapsed  once  more  into  loneliness.  Unfortunately 
air-raids  were  now  becoming  events  of  occasional  fright 
and  anxiety  in  London,  and  this  deterred  Cousin  Sophie 
from  Darlington,  Cousin  Matty  from  Leeds,  Joseph's 
wife  from  Northallerton  or  old,  married  schoolfellows 
from  other  northern  or  midland  towns  coming  to  partake 
of  her  fastuous  hospitality.  Also,  the}'  all  seemed  to  be 
busy,  either  over  their  absent  husbands'  business,  or  their 
sons',  or  because  they  were  plunged  in  war  work  them- 
selves. **  And  really,  in  these  times,  I  couldn't  stand 
Linda  for  more  than  five  minutes,"  one  of  them  said. 

As  to  the  air-raids,  she  was  not  greatly  alarmed  at  them. 
Of  course  it  was  very  uncomfortable  having  London  so 
dark  at  night,  .but  then  she  only  went  out  in  the  afternoon, 
and  never  in  the  evening.     And  the  Germans  seemed  to  be 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       335 

content  and  discriminating  enough  not  to  bomb  what  she 
called  "  the  resi(i<7wtial  "  parts  of  London.  The  nearest 
to  Portland  Place  of  their  attentions  was  Hampstead  or 
Bloomsbury.  "  We  are  protected,  my  dear,  by  the  open 
spaces  of  Regent's  Park.  They  wouldn't  like  to  waste 
their  bombs  on  poor  me !  " 

However  her  maid  didn't  altogether  like  the  off  chance 
of  the  Germans  or  our  air-craft  guns  making  a  mistake 
and  trespassing  on  the  resi(/(?Mtial  parts  of  London,  so  she 
persuaded  her  mistress  to  spend  part  of  the  winter  of 
191 5-16  at  Bournemouth.  Here  she  was  not  happy  and 
far  lonelier  even  than  in  London.  She  did  not  like  to  send 
all  that  way  for  the  Adams  children,  she  had  a  parlour 
suite  all  to  herself  at  the  hotel,  and  was  timid  about  mak- 
ing acquaintances  outside,  since  everybody  now-a-days 
wanted  you  to  subscribe  to  something,  and  it  was  so  dis- 
agreeable having  to  say  "  no."  She  was  not  a  great 
walker  so  she  could  not  enjoy  the  Talbot  woods;  the  sea 
made  her  feel  sad,  remembering  that  Michael  was  the 
other  side  and  the  submarines  increasingly  active :  in 
short,  air-raids  or  no  air-raids,  she  returned  home  in 
March,  and  her  maid,  who  had  been  with  her  ten  years, 
gave  her  warning. 

But  then  she  had  an  inspiration !  She  engaged  Mrs. 
Albert  Adams  to  take  her  place,  and  although  the  parlour- 
maid at  this  took  offence  and  cut  the  painter  of  domestic 
service,  went  off  to  the  munitions  till  Sergeant  Frederick 
Summers  should  get  leave  to  come  home  and  marry  her ; 
and  they  were  obliged  to  engage  another  parlour-maid  in 
her  place  at  double  the  wages :  Mrs.  Rossiter  had  done  a 
very  wise  thing.  "  Bert  "  had  been  home  for  three  weeks 
in  the  preceding  February,  and  the  recently  bereaved  Mrs. 
Adams  had  united  her  tears  with  Mrs.  Rossiter's  on  the 
misery  of  the  War  which  separated  attached  husbands 
and  wives.  It  now  alleviated  the  sorrows  of  both  that 
they  should  be  together  as  mistress  and  maid.     Tlie  cook 


336  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

—  a  most  important  factor  —  had  always  liked  Bertie  and 
adored  his  "  sweet,  pretty  little  children."  "  If  you'll  let 
'em  sleep  in  the  spare  room  on  the  fourth  floor,  next  their 
mother,  and  play  in  the  day-time  in  the  servants'  'all, 
they'll  be  no  manner  of  difficulty  nor  bother  to  me  and  the 
maids.  We  shall  love  to  'ave  'em,  the  darlin's.  And 
they'll  serve  to  cheer  you  up  a  bit  ma'am  till  the  Pro- 
fessor comes  back." 

Mrs.  Adams  was  a  very  capable  person  who  hated  dust 
and  grime.  The  big  house  wanted  some  such  interven- 
tion, as  since  the  butler's  departure  it  had  become  rather 
slovenly,  save  in  the  portions  occupied  by  Mrs.  Rossiter. 
Charwomen  were  got  in,  and  spring  cleanings  on  a  gigan- 
tic scale  took  place,  so  that  when  Rossiter  did  return  he 
thought  it  had  never  looked  so  nice,  or  his  Linda  been  so 
cheery  and  companionable. 

But  before  this  happy  confirmation  of  her  wisdom  in 
engaging  Nance  Adams  as  maid  and  factotum,  Mrs. 
Rossiter  had  several  waves  of  doubt  and  distress  to  breast. 
There  was  the  Suffrage  question.  Once  converted  by 
Mrs.  Humphry  Ward,  Miss  Violet  Markham,  Sir  Alm- 
roth  Wright  —  whose  prcnoni  she  could  not  pronounce  — 
the  late  Lord  Cromer,  and  the  impressive  Lord  Curzon, 
to  the  perils  of  the  Woman's  Vote,  Mrs.  Rossiter  was 
hard  to  move  from  her  uncompromising  opposition  to  the 
enfranchisement  of  her  sex.  Some  adroit  champion  of 
the  Wrong  had  employed  the  argument  that  once  Women 
got  the  vote,  the  Divorce  Lazus  would  he  greatly  enlarged. 
This  would  be  part  of  the  scheme  of  the  wild  women  to 
get  themselves  all  married;  that  and  the  legalisation  of 
Polygamy  which  would  follow  the  Vote  as  surely  as  the 
night  the  day.  Linda  had  an  undefined  terror  that  her 
Michael  might  take  advantage  of  such  licentiousness  to 
depose  her,  like  the  Empress  Josephine  was  put  aside  in 
favour  of  a  child-producing  rival;  or  if  polygamy  came 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       337 

into  force,  that  Miss  Warren  might  lawfully  share  the 
Professor's  affections. 

She  was  therefore  greatly  perturbed  in  the  course  of 
1916  at  the  sudden  throwing  up  of  the  sponge  by  the 
Anti-suffragists.  However,  there  it  was.  The  long 
struggle  drew  to  a  victorious  close.  Example  as  well  as 
precept  pointed  to  what  women  could  do  and  were  worth ; 
sound  arguments  followed  the  inconveniences  of  mili- 
tancy, and  the  men  were  convinced.  Or  rather,  the  men 
in  the  mass  and  the  fighting,  working  men  had  for  some 
time  been  convinced,  but  the  great  statesmen  who  had  so 
obstinately  opposed  the  measures  were  now  weakening  at 
the  knees  before  the  results  of  their  own  mismanagement 
in  the  conduct  of  the  War. 

A  further  perplexity  and  anxiety  for  Mrs.  Rossiter 
arose  over  the  German  spy  mania.  She  had  been  to  one 
of  Lady  Towcester's  afternoon  parties  "  to  keep  up  our 
spirits."  Lady  Towcester  collected  for  at  least  six  dif- 
ferent charities  and  funds,  and  Mrs.  Rossiter  was  a  gen- 
erous subscriber  to  all  six.  Touching  the  wood  of  the 
central  tea-table,  she  had  remarked  to  Lady  Victoria  and 
Lady  Helen  Freebooter  how  fortunate  they  (who  lived 
within  the  prescribed  area  defined  by  Lady  Jeune)  had 
been  in  so  far  escaping  air-raids. 

"  But  don't  you  know  why?  "  said  Lady  Victoria. 

Mrs.  Rossiter  didn't. 

"  Because  in  Manchester  Square,  in  Cavendish  — 
Grosvenor  —  Hanover  Squares,  in  Portland  Place  —  a 
few  doors  off  your  own  house  —  in  Harley  Street  and 
Wigmore  Street:  there  are  special  friends  of  the  Kaiser 
living.  They  may  call  themselves  by  English  names,  they 
may  even  be  ex-cabinet-ministers;  but  they  are  working 
for  the  Kaiser,  all  the  same.  And  lie  wouldn't  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  have  them  bombed,  w^ould  he?  '' 

"  Especially  as  it  is  well  known  that  there  is  a  wireless 


338  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

installation  on  a  house  in  Portland  Place  which  communi- 
cates with  a  similar  installation  in  the  Harz  Mountains," 
added  Lady  Helen. 

This  was  a  half-reassuring,  half-terrifying  statement. 
It  was  comfortable  to  know  that  you  lived  under  the 
Kaiser's  wing  —  Mrs.  Rossiter  hoped  the  aim  of  the  aero- 
nauts was  accurate,  and  their  knowledge  of  London  to- 
pograph}^ good.  At  the  same  time  it  was  alarming  to  feel 
that  you  might  be  involved  in  that  final  blow  up  of  the 
villains  which  nmst  bring  such  scoundreldom  to  a  close. 
But  if  Lady  Vera  and  Lady  Helen  knew  all  this  for  a  fact, 
why  not  tell  the  Police  ?  "  What  would  be  the  good  ? 
They'd  deny  everything  and  we  should  only  be  sued  for 
libel." 

However  to  form  some  conception  of  how  English 
home  life  was  undermined  with  plots,  she  was  advised  to 
go  and  see  Mr.  Dennis  Eadie  in  The  Man  That  Stayed  at 
Home.  She  did,  taking  Mrs.  Adams  with  her  to  the  Dress 
Circle  for  a  matinee.  Both  were  very  much  impressed, 
and  on  their  return  expected  the  fireplaces  to  open  all  of  a 
piece  and  reveal  German  spies  with  masked  faces  and 
pistols,  standing  in  the  chimney. 

At  last  these  and  other  nightmares  were  dispelled  by 
the  arrival  of  Rossiter  on  leave  of  absence  in  the  autumn 
of  1916.  He  had  the  rank  of  Colonel  in  the  R.A.M.C, 
and  wore  the  khaki  uniform  —  Mrs.  Rossiter  proudly 
thought  —  of  a  General.  He  had  shaved  off  his  beard 
and  trimmed  his  moustache  and  looked  particularly  sol- 
dierly. The  butler  who  came  with  him  though  not  pre- 
cisely a  soldier  but  a  sort  of  N.C.O.  in  a  medical  corps, 
also  looked  quite  martial,  and  had  so  much  to  say  for 
himself  that  Mrs.  Rossiter  felt  he  could  never  become  a 
butler  again.  But  he  did  all  the  same,  and  a  most  efficient 
one  though  a  little  breezy  in  manner. 

Linda  now  entered  on  an  aftermath  of  matrimonial 
happiness.     Rossiter  was  to  take  quite  a  long  leave  so 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       339 

that  he  could  pursue  the  most  important  researches  in 
curative  surgery  —  bone  grafting  and  the  Hke ;  not  only 
in  his  own  laboratory  but  at  the  College  of  Surgeons  and 
the  Zoological  Gardens  P*rosectorium.  With  only  occa- 
sional week-ends  at  home  he  had  been  away  from  London 
since  September,  1914;  had  known  great  hardships,  the 
life  of  the  trenches  and  the  bomb-proof  shelter,  stewed 
tea  and  bad  tinned  milk,  rum  and  water,  bully  beef,  plum 
and  apple  jam,  good  bread,  it  is  true,  but  shocking  mar- 
garine for  butter.  He  had  slept  for  weeks  together  on  an 
old  sofa  more  or  less  dressed,  kept  warm  by  his  great- 
coat and  two  Army  blankets  of  woven  porcupine  quills 
(seemingly)  the  ends  of  which  tickled  his  nose  and 
scratched  his  face.  He  had  been  very  cold  and  sweat- 
ingly  hot,  furiously  hungry  with  no  meal  to  satisfy  his 
healthy  appetite,  madly  thirsty  and  no  long  drink  attain- 
able; unable  to  sleep  for  three  nights  at  a  time  owing  to 
the  noise  of  the  bombardment;  surfeited  with  horrible 
smells;  sickened  with  butchery;  shocked  at  his  own  fail- 
ures to  retrieve  life,  yet  encouraged  by  an  isolated  victory, 
here  and  there,  over  death  and  disablement.  So  the  never- 
before-appreciated  comfort  of  his  Park  Crescent  home 
filled  him  with  intense  gratitude  to  Linda. 

Had  he  known,  he  owed  some  of  his  acknowledgment 
to  Mrs.  Adams ;  wdio  had  worked  both  hard  and  tactfully 
in  her  undefined  position  of  lady's-maid-housekeeper- 
companion.  But  naturally  he  didn't  know,  though  he 
praised  his  wife  warmly  for  her  charity  of  soul  in  taking 
pity  on  the  poor  little  woman  and  her  two  children.  He 
could  only  give  the  slightest  news  about  Bertie,  but  said 
he  was  a  sort  of  jack-of-all-trades  for  the  Y.M.C.A.  As 
to  Vivie  — "  that  Miss  Warren  " —  he  answered  his  wife's 
questions  neither  with  the  glowering  taciturnity  nor  sus- 
picious loquacity  of  former  times.  "  Miss  Warren  ? 
Vivie?  I  fancy  she's  still  at  Brussels,  but  there  is  no 
chance  of  finding  out.     There  is  a  story  that  her  mother 


340  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

is  dead.  P'raps  now  they'll  let  her  come  away.  She 
must  be  jolly  well  sick  of  Brussels  by  now.  When  I  last 
heard  of  Adams  he  was  still  hoping  to  get  into  touch  with 
her.  I  hope  he  won't  take  any  risks.  She's  a  clever 
woman  and  I  dare  say  can  take  care  of  herself.  I  hope 
we  shall  all  meet  again  when  the  War  is  over." 

He  seemed  very  pleased  to  hear  of  the  new  Conciliation 
Bill,  the  general  agreement  all  round  on  the  Suffrage 
question  and  the  enlargement  of  the  electorate.  He  had 
always  told  Linda  it  was  bound  to  come.  "  And  after  it 
has  come,  dearie,  you  mark  my  words :  things  will  go  on 
pretty  much  as  before."  But  his  real,  intense,  absorbing 
interest  lay  in  the  new  experiments  he  was  about  to  make 
in  bone  grafting  and  cartilage  replacing,  and  the  functions 
of  the  pituitary  body  and  the  interstitial  glands.  To  carry 
these  out  adequately  the  Zoological  Society  had  accumu- 
lated troops  of  monkeys  and  baboons.  At  a  certain  depot 
in  Camden  Town  dogs  were  kept  for  his  purposes.  And 
the  vaults  and  upper  floors  of  the  Royal  College  of  Sur- 
geons were  at  Rossiter's  disposal,  with  Professor  Keith  to 
co-operate.  Never  had  his  house  in  Portland  Place  —  to 
be  accurate  the  Park  Crescent  end  thereof  —  seemed  so 
conveniently  situated,  or  its  studio-laboratory  so  well  de- 
signed. "Air-raids?  Pooh!  Just  about  one  chance  in 
a  million  we  should  be  struck.  Besides :  can't  think  of 
that,  when  so  much  is  at  stake.  That's  a  fine  phrase, 
'Menders  of  the  Maimed.'  Just  what  we  want  to  be! 
No  more  artificial  limbs  if  we  can  help  you  to  grow  your 
own  new  legs  and  arms  —  perhaps.  At  any  rate,  mend 
up  those  that  are  a  hopeless  mash.  Grand  work !  Only 
bright  thing  in  the  War.  Now  dear,  are  you  ready  with 
that  lymph?  " 

And  she  was.  Never  had  Linda  been  so  happy.  She 
overcame  her  disgust  at  the  sight  of  blood,  at  monkeys, 
dogs,  and  humans  under  anaesthetics,  at  yellow  fat,  gleam- 
ing sinew,  and  blood-stained  bone.     She  was  careful  as 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       341 

a  washer-up.  The  services  of  Mrs.  Adams  were  enlisted, 
and  she  was  more  deft  even  than  her  mistress;  and  the 
butler,  who  was  by  this  time  a  regular  hospital  dresser, 
greatly  admired  her  pretty  arms  when  they  were  bared 
to  the  elbow,  and  her  flushed  cheeks  when  she  took  a 
humble  part  in  some  tantalizing  adjustment. 

"  I'm  some  use  to  you  after  all,"  Linda  would  say 
when  they  retired  from  the  studio  for  a  rest  and  she  made 
the  tea.  "  Some  iisef  I  should  think  so!  "  said  Rossiter 
(whether  truly  or  not).  And  he  reproached  himself  that 
twenty  years  ago  he  had  not  trained  and  developed  her 
to  help  him  in  his  work,  to  be  a  real  companion  in  his 
studies. 

He  was  really  fond  of  her  through  the  winter  of  1916. 
And  so  jovial  and  lover-like,  so  boyish  in  his  fun,  so  like 
the  typical  Tommy  home  from  the  trenches.  When  he 
was  overjoyed  at  the  success  of  some  uncovered  and 
peeped-at  experiment,  he  would  sing,  "  When  /  get  me 
civvies  on  again,  an'  it's  Home  Sweet  Home  once  more  "  ; 
and  ask  for  the  ideal  cottage  "  with  rowses  round  the 
door  —  And  a  nice  warm  bottle  in  me  nice  warm  bed, 
An'  a  nice  soft  pillow  for  me  nice  soft  'ead.  .  .  ."  Mrs. 
Rossiter  began  to  think  there  was  a  good  side  to  the  War, 
after  all.  It  made  some  men  more  conscious  of  their 
home  comforts  and  less  exigent  for  intellectuality  in 
their  home  companions. 

They  went  out  very  little  into  Society.  Rossiter  held 
that  war-time  parties  were  scandalous.  He  poohpoohed 
the  idea  that  immodest  dancing  with  frisky  matrons  or 
abandoned  spinsters  was  necessary  to  restore  the  shell- 
shocked  nerves  of  temporary  captains,  locally-ranked  ma- 
jors, or  the  recently-joined  subaltern.  He  was  far  too 
busy  for  twaddly  tea-tights  and  carping  at  hard-worked 
generals  who  were  doing  their  best  and  a  good  best  too. 
He  and  Linda  did  dine  occasionally  with  Honoria,  but  the 
latter  felt  she  could  not  let  herself  go  about  Vivie  in  the 


342  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

presence  of  Mrs,  Rossiter  and  seemed  a  little  cold  in 
manner. 

Ordinarily,  after  working  hard  all  day  while  the  day- 
light lasted  they  much  preferred  an  evening  of  complete 
solitude.  Rossiter's  new  robustness  of  taste  included  love 
of  a  gramophone.  Money  being  no  consideration  with 
them,  they  acquired  a  tip-top  one  with  superlative  records ; 
not  so  much  the  baaing,  bellowing  and  shrieking  of  fash- 
ionable singers,  but  orchestral  performances,  heart-melting 
duets  between  violin  and  piano  {what  human  voice  ever 
came  up  to  a  good  violin  or  violoncello?),  racy  comic 
songs,  inspiriting  two  steps,  xylophone  symphonies,  and 
dreamy,  sensuous  waltzes.  This  gramophone  Linda 
learnt  to  work;  and  while  Michael  read  voraciously  the 
works  of  Hunter,  Hugh  Owen  Thomas,  Stromeyer, 
Duchenne,  Goodsir,  Wolff,  and  Redfern  on  bones, 
muscles,  ligaments,  tendons,  cartilage,  periosteum  and 
osteogenesis  —  or,  more  often,  Keith's  compact  and  lucid 
analysis  of  their  experiments  and  conclusions  —  Linda  let 
loose  in  the  scented  air  of  a  log  fire  these  varied  melodies 
which  attuned  the  mind  to  extraordinary  perceptibility. 

The  little  Adamses  were  allowed  to  steal  in  and  listen, 
on  condition  they  never  uttered  a  word  to  break  the  spell 
of  Colonel  Rossiter's  thoughts. 

I  think  also  Rossiter  felt  his  wife  had  been  unjustly 
snubbed  by  the  great  ladies  and  the  off-hand,  harum- 
scarum  3^oung  war-workers ;  so  he  flatly  declined  to  have 
any  of  them  messing  around  his  studio  or  initiated  into 
his  research  work.  It  was  intimated  that  the  Rossiter 
Thursday  afternoons  of  long  ago  would  not  be  resumed 
until  after  the  peace.  Linda  therefore  derived  much  con- 
solation and  satisfaction  for  past  injuries  to  her  pride 
when  Lady  Vera  —  or  Victoria  —  Freebooter  called  one 
day  just  before  Christmas  and  said  *' Oh  —  er  — 
mother's  let  our  house  till  February  and  thinks  we'd 
better  —  I  mean  the  Marrybone  Guild  of  war-workers  — 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       343 

meet  at  your  house  instead";  and  she,  Linda,  had  the 
opportunity  of  replying:  "Oh,  I'm  sorry,  hut  It's 
QUITE  impossible.  The  Professor  —  I  mean,  Colonel 
Rossiter  —  and  I  are  so  very  busy  ...  we  are  seeing 
no  one  just  now.  Indeed  we've  enlisted  all  the  servants 
to  help  the  Colonel  in  his  work,  so  I  can't  even  offer  you  a 
cup  of  tea.  ...  I  must  rush  back  at  once  .  .  .  You'll 
excuse  me?  " 

"  That  Rossiter  woman  is  quite  off  her  head  with 
grandeur,"  said  Lady  Vera  to  Lady  Helen.  "  I  expect 
Uncle  Algy  has  let  out  that  her  husband  is  in  the  New 
Year's  honours." 

And  so  he  was.  But  Uncle  Algy,  though  he  might 
have  babbled  to  his  nieces,  had  not  written  a  word  to 
the  Rossiters.  So  they  just  enjoyed  Christmas  —  too 
much,  they  thought,  more  than  any  Christmas  before  — 
in  the  simple  satisfaction  of  being  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ros- 
siter, all  in  all  to  each  other,  but  rendered  additionally 
happy  by  making  those  about  them  happy.  The  little 
Adamses  staggered  under  their  presents  and  had  a 
Christmas  Tree  to  which  they  were  allowed  to  ask  their 
two  grannies  —  Mrs.  Laidly  from  Fig  Tree  Court  and 
Mrs.  Adams  from  the  Kilburn  Laundry  —  and  numerous 
little  friends  from  Marylebone,  who  had  been  washed  and 
curled  and  crimped  and  adjured  not  to  disgrace  their 
parents,  or  father  —  in  the  trenches  —  would  be  told  "  as 
sure  as  I  stand  here." 

(The  little  Adamses  were  also  warned  that  if  they  ever 
again  were  heard  calling  Mrs.  Rossiter  "  Gran'ma,"  they'd 
—  but  the  threat  was  too  awful  to  be  uttered,  especially 
as  their  mother  at  this  time  was  always  on  the  verge 
of  tears,  either  at  getting  no  news  of  Bert  or  at  the 
unforgettable  kindness  of  Bert's  employer.) 

Mrs.  Rossiter,  quite  unaware  that  she  was  soon  to  be 
a  Dame,  gave  Christmas  entertainments  at  St.  Dun- 
stan's,   at  the   IVIarylebone   Workhouse,   and  to   all  the 


344  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

wounded  soldiers  in  the  parish.  And  on  December  31, 
19 16,  Michael  received  a  note  from  the  Prime  Minister 
to  say  that  His  Majesty,  in  recognition  of  his  exceptional 
services  in  curative  surgery  at  the  front,  had  been  pleased 
to  bestow  on  him  a  Knight  Commandership  of  the  Bath. 
"  So  that,  Linda,  you  can  call  yourself  Lady  Rossiter, 
and  you  will  have  to  get  some  new  cards  printed  for  both 
of  us." 

Linda  didn't  feel  quite  that  ecstasy  over  her  title  that 
she  had  expected  in  her  day-dreams.  She  was  getting  a 
little  frightened  at  her  happiness.  Generations  of  Pur- 
itan forefathers  and  mothers  had  left  some  influence  of 
Calvinism  on  her  mentality.  She  was  brought  up  to 
believe  in  a  jealous  God,  whose  Providence  when  you  felt 
too  happy  on  earth  just  landed  you  in  some  unexpected 
disaster  to  fit  you  for  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  —  a  King- 
dom which  all  healthy  human  beings  shrink  from  entering 
with  the  terror  of  the  unknown  and  a  certain  homeliness 
of  disposition  which  is  humbly  content  with  this  cosy 
planet  and  a  corporeal  existence. 

However  it  was  very  nice  to  leave  cards  of  calling  on 
Lady  Towcester  —  even  though  she  was  out  of  town  on 
account  of  air-raids  —  and  on  others,  inscribed  :  "  Lady 
Rossiter,  Colonel  Sir  Michael  Rossiter,  Sir  Michael  and 
Lady  Rossiter;"  and  to  see  printed  foolscap  envelopes 
for  Michael  arrive  from  the  War  Office  and  lie  on  the 
hall  table,  addressed :  Colonel  Sir  Michael  Rossiter 
K.C.B.  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

And  later  on,  in  January  or  February,  for  some  very 
good  reason.  Sir  Michael  and  Lady  Rossiter  were  received 
in  au'dience  by  the  King  and  Queen  at  Buckingham  Palace. 
The  King  had  already  watched  Sir  Michael  at  work  in  his 
laboratory  just  behind  the  French  front;  so  they  two,  as 
Linda  timidly  glanced  at  them,  had  no  lack  of  subjects  for 
conversation.  But  the  Queen!  Linda  had  thought  she 
could  never  have  talked  to  a  Queen  without  swooning,  and 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       345 

indeed  had  arrived  primed  with  much  sal  volatile.  Yet 
there,  as  in  some  realistic  dream,  she  was  led  on  to  talk 
about  her  war  charities  and  Sir  Michael's  experiments 
without  trembling,  and  found  herself  able  to  listen  with 
intelligence  to  the  Queen's  practical  suggestions  about  war 
work  and  the  application  of  relief  funds  in  crowded  dis- 
tricts. ""  We  actually  compared  notes! "  said  a  flushed 
and  triumphant  Linda  to  her  Michael,  as  they  drove  away 
through  the  blue  twilight  of  St.  James's  Park. 

And  so  far  from  being  puffed  up  by  this,  people  said 
they  had  always  thought  Lady  Rossiter  was  kind,  but 
they  really  before  had  never  imagined  there  was  so  much 
in  her.  She  was  even  allowed  to  preside  as  Vice  Presi- 
dent, in  the  absence  of  Lady  Towcester ;  and  got  through 
it  quite  creditably  —  kind  hearts  being  more  than  coronets 
—  and  made  a  little  speech  to  which  cook  and  Nance 
Adams  called  out  "  Hear,  Hear  I  "  and  roused  quite  a 
hearty  response. 

Of  course  it  was  an  awful  wrench  when  INIichael  had  to 
return  to  France.  But  he  would  be  back  in  the  autumn, 
and  meantime  she  must  remember  she  was  a  soldier's  wife. 
So  the  summer  was  got  through  with  cheerfulness,  espe- 
cially as  she  was  now  treated  with  much  more  regard  in 
the  different  committees  whereof  she  was  Vice  President. 
On  these  committees  she  met  Honoria  Armstrong,  and 
the  longing  to  renew  the  old  friendship  and  talk  about 
Michael's  superlative  qualities  to  one  who  had  long  known 
them,  took  her  over  to  Kensington  Square,  impulsively. 
Honoria  perceived  the  need  instinctively.  The  coldness 
engendered  by  Linda's  silly  Anti-suffragism  disappeared. 
They  both  talked  by  the  hour  together  of  their  respective 
husbands  and  their  outstanding  virtues  and  charming 
weaknesses.  The  Armstrong  children  took  to  calling  her 
Aunt  Linda  —  Michael  and  Petworth,  after  all,  were 
brothers-in-arms  and  friends  from  youth.     Lady  Rossiter 


346  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

was  delighted,  and  lavished  presents  on  them,  till  Honoria 
reminded  her  it  was  war-time  and  extravagance  in  all 
things  was  reprehensible,  even  in  British-made  toys. 

They  discussed  the  Vote,  soon  to  be  theirs,  and  how  it 
should  be  exercised.  From  that  —  by  some  instinct  — 
Honoria  passed  on  to  a  talk  about  Vivien  Warren  ...  a 
selective  talk.  She  said  nothing  about  David  Williams, 
but  enlarged  on  Vivie's  absolute  "  straightness,"  espe- 
cially towards  other  women;  her  business  capacities,  her 
restoration  of  her  mother  to  the  ranks  of  the  respectable; 
till  at  last  it  seemed  as  though  the  burning  down  of  racing 
stables  was  a  meritorious  act  ..."  ridding  England  of  an 
evil  that  good  might  come."  And  there  was  poor  Vivie, 
locked  up  in  Brussels,  if  indeed  she  were  still  living. 

Linda  felt  shocked  at  her  own  treachery  to  the  Woman's 
Cause  in  having  betrayed  that  poor,  well-meaning  Miss 
Warren  to  the  police.  Never  could  she  confess  this  to 
Lady  Armstrong  (Sir  Petworth  had  just  been  knighted 
for  a  great  success  in  battle),  tell  her  about  the  fragment 
of  letter  she  had  forwarded  anonymously  to  Scotland 
Yard.  Perhaps  she  might  some  day  tell  Michael,  when  he 
returned.  In  any  case  she  would  say  at  the  next  oppor- 
tunity that  as  soon  as  Miss  Warren  reappeared  in  Eng- 
land, he  might  ask  her  to  the  house  as  often  as  he  liked  — 
even  to  stay  with  them  if  she  were  in  want  of  a  home. 

She  said  as  much  to  Michael  when  he  came  back  in 
September,  191 7,  to  make  some  further  investigations  into 
bone  grafting.  He  seemed  genuinely  pleased  at  her 
broad-mindedness,  and  said  it  would  indeed  be  delightful 
when  the  War  was  over  —  and  it  surely  must  be  over  soon 
—  now  Mr.  Lloyd  George  and  Clemenceau  and  Pres- 
ident Wilson  had  taken  it  in  hand  —  it  would  indeed  be 
delightful  to  form  a  circle  of  close  friends  who  had  all 
been  interested  in  the  Woman's  Movement.  As  to  Vivie 
...  if  she  were  not  dead  ...  he  should  advise  her  to 
go  in  for  Parliament. 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       347 

Pie  had  had  no  news  of  her  since  ever  so  long;  what 
was  worse,  he  had  now  very  great  misgivings  about  Bertie 
Adams.  During  the  autumn  of  19 16  he  had  disappeared 
in  the  direction  of  La  Bassee.  There  were  stories  of  his 
having  joined  some  American  Rehef  Expedition  at  Lille 
— a  most  dangerous  thing  to  do;  insensate,  if  it  were  not 
a  mad  attempt  to  get  through  to  Brussels  in  disguise  to 
rescue  Miss  Warren.  No  one  in  the  Y.M.C.A.  believed 
for  a  moment  that  he  had  done  anything  dishonourable. 
Most  likely  he  had  been  killed  —  as  so  many  Y.M.C.A. 
people  were  just  then,  assisting  to  bring  in  the  wounded  or 
going  up  to  the  trenches  with  supplies.  Mrs.  Adams  had 
better  be  prepared,  cautiously,  for  a  bereavement.  Ros- 
siter  himself  was  very  sad  about  it.  He  had  missed 
Bertie's  services  much  these  last  three  years.  He  had 
never  known  a  better  worker  —  turn  his  hand  to  anything 
—  Such  a  good  indexer,  for  example. 

Linda  wondered  whether  she  could  do  any  indexing? 
Three  years  ago  Michael  would  have  replied:  "You? 
Nonsense,  my  dear.  You'd  only  make  a  muddle  of  it. 
j\Iuch  better  stick  to  your  housekeeping"  (which  as  a 
matter  of  fact  u^as  done  in  those  days  by  cook,  butler 
and  parlour-maid).     But  now  he  said,  thoughtfully: 

"  Well  —  I  don't  know  —  perhaps  you  might.  There's 
no  reason  you  shouldn't  try." 

And  Linda  began  trying. 

But  she  also  worked  regularly  in  the  laboratory  now, 
calling  it  at  his  suggestion  the  lab,  and  stumbling  no 
more  over  the  word.  She  wore  a  neat  overall  with  tight 
sleeves  and  her  hair  plainly  dressed  under  a  little  white, 
pleated  cap.  She  never  now  caught  anything  with  her 
sleeve  and  switched  it  off  the  table ;  she  never  let  anything 
drop,  and  was  a  most  judicious  duster  and  wiper-up. 

Rossiter  in  this  autumn  of  19 17  was  extremely  inter- 
ested in  certain  crucial  experiments  he  was  making  with 
spiculum  in  sponge-cells;  with  scleroblasts,  "  mason-cells," 


348  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

osteoblasts,  and  "  consciousness  "  in  bone-cells.  Most  of 
the  glass  jars  in  which  these  experiments  were  going  on 
(those  of  the  spOiiges  in  sea-water)  required  daylight  for 
their  progress.  There  was  no  place  for  their  storage 
more  suitable  than  that  portion  of  his  studio-laboratory 
which  was  above  ground ;  and  the  situation  of  his  house  in 
regard  to  air  attacks,  bombs,  shrapnel  seemed  to  him  far 
more  favourable  than  the  upper  rooms  at  the  College  of 
Surgeons.  That  great  building  was  often  endangered  be- 
cause of  its  proximity  to  the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street ;  and 
the  Strand  and  Fleet  Street,  being  regarded  by  the  Ger- 
mans as  arteries  of  Empire,  were  frequently  attacked  by 
German  air-craft. 

But  in  Rossiter's  studio  there  was  an  under-ground 
annex  as  continuation  of  the  house  cellars;  and  the 
household  was  instructed  that  if,  in  Rossiter's  absence, 
official  warnings  of  an  air-raid  were  given,  certain  jars 
were  to  be  lifted  carefully  off  the  shelves  and  brought 
either  into  the  library  or  taken  down  below  in  case, 
through  shrapnel  or  through  the  vibration  of  neighbour- 
ing explosions,  the  glass  of  the  studio  roof  was  broken. 

One  day  in  October,  19 17,  the  German  air  fleet  made  a 
determined  attack  on  London.  It  was  intended  this  time 
to  belie  the  stories  of  the  heart  of  the  Western  district 
being  exempted  from  punishment  because  Lady  So-and-so 
lived  there  and  had  lent  her  house  in  East  Anglia  to  the 
Empress  and  her  children  in  19 12,  or  because  Sir  Some- 
body-else was  really  an  arch  spy  of  the  Germans  and  had 
to  go  on  residing  in  London.  So  the  aeroplanes  this  time 
began  distributing  their  explosives  very  carefully  over  the 
residential  area  between  Regent's  Park  and  Pall  Mall,  the 
Tottenham  Court  Road  and  Selfridge's. 

Lady  Rossiter  in  her  overall  was  disturbed  at  her  in- 
dexing by  the  clamour  of  an  approaching  daylight  raid ; 
by  the  maroons,  the  clanging  of  bells,  the  hooters,  the 
gunfire;  and  finally  by  the  not  very  distant  sounds  of  ex- 


THE  BOMB  IN  PORTLAND  PLACE       349 

ploding  bombs.  She  called  and  rang  for  the  servants, 
and  then  rushed  from  the  library  into  the  studio  to  com- 
mence removing  the  more  important  of  the  jars  to  a  place 
of  greater  safety.  She  had  seized  two  of  them,  one  under 
each  arm,  and  was  making  for  the  library  door,  when 
there  came  the  most  awful  crash  she  had  ever  heard,  and 
resounding  bangs  which  seemed  to  echo  indefinitely  in  her 
ears.  .  .  . 

Rossiter  was  working  in  the  Prosectorium  at  the  Zoo 
when  the  daylight  air-raid  began.  It  seemed  to  be  coming 
across  the  middle  of  London;  so,  hastily  doffing  his  over- 
all, he  left  the  Gardens  and  walked  rapidly  towards  Port- 
land Place.  He  had  hardly  got  past  the  fountain  pre- 
sented by  Sir  Jamsetjee  Jeejeebhoy  in  wasted  benevolence, 
than  he  heard  the  deafening  report  of  the  bomb  which  had 
wrecked  his  studio,  reduced  it  to  a  tangle  of  iron  girders 
and  stanchions,  strewn  its  floor  with  brick  rubble  and 
thick  dust,  and  left  his  wife  a  human  wreck,  lying  un- 
conscious with  a  broken  spine,  surrounded  by  splinters  of 
glass,  broken  jars,  porcelain  trays,  and  nasty-looking  frag- 
ments of  sponge  and  vertebrate  anatomy.  With  an  al- 
most paralyzing  premonition  of  disaster  he  ran  as  quickly 
as  possible  towards  Park  Crescent.  The  Marylebone 
Road  was  strewn  with  glass,  and  a  policeman  —  every  one 
else  had  taken  shelter  —  was  ringing  and  knocking  at  his 
front  door  to  ascertain  the  damage  and  possible  loss  of 
life.  Michael  let  both  of  them  in  with  his  latch-key.  In 
the  hall  the  butler  was  lying  prone,  stunned  by  a  small 
statue  which  had  been  flung  at  him  by  the  capricious 
violence  of  the  explosion.  All  the  mirrors  were  shivered 
and  most  of  the  pictures  were  down.  At  the  entrance  to 
the  library  cook  was  standing,  all  of  a  tremble.  The 
two  little  Adamses  rushed  up  to  him :  "  Oh  Sir  Michael ! 
Mummie  is  dead  and  Gran'ma  is  awfully  hurted." 

But  Mummie  —  Mrs.  Adams  —  was  not  dead ;  neither 
was  the  expensive  parlour-maid.     Both  had   fainted  or 


350  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

been  stunned  by  the  explosion  on  their  way  to  help  their 
mistress.  Both  lay  inanimate  on  the  library  floor.  The 
library  glass  door  was  shivered  to  dangerous  jagged 
splinters,  but  the  iron  framework  — "  Curse  it  " —  re- 
mained a  tangled,  maddening  obstacle  to  his  further 
progress.  He  could  see  through  the  splinters  of  thick 
glass  something  that  looked  like  Linda,  lying  on  her  back 
—  and  —  something  that  looked  like  blood.  The  police- 
man who  followed  him  was  strong  and  adroit.  Together 
they  detached  the  glass  splinters  and  wrenched  open  the 
framework,  with  space  enough,  at  any  rate,  to  pass 
through  without  the  rending  of  clothes  into  the  studio. 

Linda  Rossiter  was  regaining  consciousness  for  just  a 
few  more  minutes  of  sentient  life.  She  was  aware  there 
had  been  a  dreadful  accident  to  some  one ;  perhaps  to  her- 
self. But  she  fully  believed  she  had  first  of  all  saved 
the  precious  jars.  No  doubt  they  had  put  her  to  bed, 
and  as  there  was  something  warm  (her  blood,  poor  thing) 
round  her  body,  they  must  have  packed  her  with  hot 
water  bottles.  Some  idea  of  Michael's  no  doubt.  How 
kind  he  was ! 

She  would  soon  get  right,  with  him  to  look  after  her. 
She  opened  her  eyes  to  meet  his,  as  he  bent  over  her,  and 
said  with  the  ghost  of  an  arch  smile :  "I  —  have  been  — 
of  some  use  —  to  you,  haven't  —  I  ?  .  .  .  (then  the  voice 
faltered  and  trailed  away)  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  saved  —  your  — 
specimens " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BERTIE    ADAMS 

ONE  day,  early  in  April,  19 17,  Vivie  was  standing  in 
a  corridor  of  the  Hopital  de  St.  Pierre  talking  to 
Minna  von  Stachelberg.  She  had  just  come  from  the 
railway  station,  where  in  common  with  the  few  British 
and  Americans  who  remained  in  Brussels  she  had  been  to 
take  a  respectful  and  grateful  farewell  of  the  American 
Minister  and  his  wife,  who  were  leaving  Belgium  for 
Holland,  prior  to  the  American  declaration  of  war. 
American  diplomacy  had  done  little  for  her  or  her  mother, 
but  it  had  been  the  shield,  the  salvation,  the  only  hope  of 
Belgium.  Moreover,  the  break-off  of  diplomatic  relations 
initiated  the  certain  hope  of  a  happier  future.  American 
intervention  in  the  war  must  lead  to  Peace  and  Freedom. 
Germany  must  now  be  beaten  and  Belgium  set  free. 

So  she  had  contributed  her  mite  to  the  fund  which 
purchased  spring  flowers  —  hothouse-grown,  for  this 
April  was  a  villainous  prolongation  of  winter  —  with 
which  to  strew  the  approach  to  the  station  and  fill  the 
reserve  compartment  of  the  train. 

As  Vivie  was  nearing  the  end  of  her  description  — 
and  Minna  was  hoping  it  zvas  the  end,  as  she  wanted  to 
get  back  to  her  patients  —  two  German  policemen  marched 
up  to  Vivie,  clicked  their  heels,  saluted,  and  said  in 
German,  "  Mademoiselle  Varennes,  nicht  wahr?  Be 
good  enough  to  accompany  us  to  the  Kommandantur." 

At  this  dread  summons,  Vivie  turned  pale,  and  Minna 
dismayed  began  to  ask  questions.  The  Polizei  answered 
that  they  had  none  to  give.  .  .  .  Might  she  accompany 

351 


352  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

her  friend?  She  might  not.  Then  followed  a  ride  in  a 
military  motor,  with  the  two  silent  policemen. 

They  arrived  outside  the  Kommandantur.  .  .  .  More 
clanking,  clicking,  and  gruff  conversation  in  German. 
She  got  out,  in  response  to  a  tight  pressure  on  her  arm,  a 
grip  in  fact,  and  accompanied  her  grim  guide  through  halls 
and  corridors,  and  at  last  entered  a  severely  furnished 
office,  a  kind  of  magistrate's  court,  and  was  confronted 
with  —  Bertie  Adams !  A  whiskered,  bearded,  mous- 
tached,  shabbily  dressed  (in  a  quasi-military  uniform) 
Bertie  Adams :  lean,  and  hollow-eyed,  but  with  the  love- 
light  in  his  eyes.  He  turned  on  her  such  a  look  of  dog- 
like fealty,  of  happy  recognition  that  although,  by  instinct 
and  for  his  safety,  she  was  about  to  deny  all  knowledge  of 
him,  she  could  not  force  her  eyes  or  tongue  to  tell  the  lie. 

"  Oh  miss,  oh  my  dear  Miss  Warren !  Hozv  I  have 
hungered  and  thirsted  for  a  sight  of  you  all  these  months 
and  years !  To  see  you  once  more  is  worth  all  and  more 
I've  gone  through  to  get  here.  They  may  shoot  me  now, 
if  they've  got  the  heart  —  Not  that  I've  done  anything 
to  deserve  it  —  I've  simply  had  one  object  in  view :  To 
come  here  and  help  you." 

He  looked  around  as  if  instinctively  to  claim  the 
sympathy  of  the  policemen.  To  say  he  met  with  none 
would  be  to  make  them  out  more  inhuman  than  they 
were.  But  as  all  this  speech  was  in  English  they  under- 
stood but  little  of  what  he  had  said.  They  guessed  he 
loved  the  woman  to  whom  he  spake,  but  he  may  have 
been  pleading  with  her  not  to  give  him  away,  to  palliate 
his  acts  of  espionage. 

Vivie  replied : 

"  Dear  Bertie !  You  can't  be  gladder  to  see  me  than  I 
am  you.     I  greet  you  with  all  my  heart.     But  you  must 

be  aware  that  in  coming  here  like  this  you "   her 

words  stuck  in  her  throat  —  she  knew  not  what  to  say  lest 
she  might  incriminate  him  farther 


BERTIE  ADAMS  353 

A  police  officer  broke  in  on  her  embarrassment  and 
said  in  German :  "  Es  ist  genug  —  You  recognize  him, 
Madame?  He  was  arrested  this  morning  at  the  Hotel 
Imperial,  enquiring  for  you.  Meantime,  you  also  are 
under  arrest.     Please  follow  that  officer." 

"May  I  communicate  with  my  friends?"  said  Vivie, 
with  a  dry  tongue  in  a  dry  mouth. 

"  Who  are  your  friends  ?  " 

"  Grafin  von  Stachelberg,  at  the  Hopital  de  St.  Pierre; 
le  Pasteur  Walcker,  Rue  Haute,  33 " 

"  I  will  let  them  know  that  you  are  arrested  on  a  charge 
of  high  treason  —  in  league  with  an  English  spy,"  he 
hissed. 

Then  Vivie  was  pushed  out  of  the  room  and  Bertie  was 
seized  by  two  policemen  — 

They  did  not  meet  again  for  three  days.  It  was  a 
Saturday,  and  a  police  agent  came  into  the  improvised 
cell  where  Vivie  was  confined  —  who  had  never  taken 
off  her  clothes  since  her  arrest  and  had  passed  three  days 
of  such  mental  distress  as  she  had  never  known,  unable 
to  sleep  on  the  bug-infested  pallet,  unable  to  eat  a  morsel 
of  the  filthy  food  —  and  invited  her  to  follow  him, 
"  By  the  grace  of  the  military  governor  of  the  prison 
of  Saint-Gilles  " — he  said  this  in  French  as  she  under- 
stood German  imperfectly — "you  are  permitted  to  pro- 
ceed there  to  take  farewell  of  your  English  friend,  the 
prisoner  A-dams,  who  has  been  condemned  to  death." 

Bertie  had  been  tried  by  court-martial  in  the  Senate, 
on  the  Friday.  He  followed  all  the  proceedings  in  a 
dazed  condition.  Everything  was  carried  on  in  German, 
but  the  parts  that  most  concerned  him  were  grotesquely 
translated  by  a  ferocious-looking  interpreter,  who  like- 
wise turned  Bertie's  stupid,  involved,  self -condemnatory 
answers    into     German  —  no     doubt    very     incorrectly. 


354  MRS.  V/ARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Bertie  however  protested,  over  and  over  again,  that  Miss 
Warren  knew  nothing  of  his  projects,  and  that  his  only 
object  in  posing  as  an  American  and  travelling  with  false 
passports  was  to  rescue  Miss  Warren  from  Brussels  and 
enable  her  to  pass  into  Holland,  "  or  get  out  of  the 
country  some  'ow."  As  to  the  Emperor,  and  taking  his 
life — "  why  lor'  bless  you,  /  don't  want  to  take  any  one's 
life.  I  'ate  war,  more  than  ever  after  all  I've  seen  of  it. 
Upon  my  honour,  gentlemen,  all  I  want  is  Miss  Warren." 
(Here  one  member  of  the  court  made  a  facetious  remark 
in  German  to  a  colleague  who  sniggered,  while,  with  his 
insolent  light  blue  eyes,  he  surveyed  Bertie's  honest,  earn- 
est face,  thin  and  hollowed  with  privations  and 
fatigue.   .  .  . 

He  was  perfunctorily  defended  by  a  languid  Belgian 
barrister,  tired  of  the  invidious  role  of  mechanical  plead- 
ing for  the  lives  of  prisoners,  especially  where,  as  in  this 
case,  they  were  foredoomed,  and  eloquence  was  waste  of 
breath,  and  even  got  you  disliked  by  the  impatient  ogres, 
thirsty  for  the  blood  of  an  English  man  or  woman.  .  .  . 
"  Du  reste,"  he  said  to  a  colleague,  "  agissait-il  d'un  Beige, 
mon  cher,  tu  sais  que  Ton  se  sentirait  force  a  risquer 
le  deplaisir  de  ces  ogres:  tandis  que,  pour  un  pauvre 
bougre  d'Anglais  .  .  .  ?  Et  qu'ont-ils  fait  pour  nous, 
les  Anglais?  Nous  avons  tache  de  leur  boucher  le  trou 
a  Liege  —  et  —  il  —  nous  —  ont  —  abandonne.  Enfin 
—  allons  boire  un  coup '' 


Verdict :  as  translated  by  the  ferocious  interpreter :  — 
"  Ze  Court  faind  you  Geeltee.     You  are  condemned  to 
Dess,  and  you  will  be  shot  on  Monday." 

In  the  prison  of  Saint-Gilles  —  as  I  believe  elsewhere 
in  Belgium  —  though  there  might  be  a  military  governor 
in  control  who  was  a  German,  the  general  direction 
remained  in  the  hands  of  the  Belgian  staff  which  was 
there     when    the     German     occupation     began.     These 


BERTIE  ADAMS  355 

Belgflan  directors  and  their  subordinates  were  as  kind 
and  humane  to  the  prisoners  under  their  charge  as  the 
Germans  were  the  reverse.  Everything  was  done  at 
Saint-Gilles  to  alleviate  the  mental  agony  of  the  con- 
demned-to-death.  The  German  courts  tried  to  prolong 
and  enhance  the  agony  as  much  as  possible,  by  sentencing 
the  prisoners  three  days,  six  days,  a  week  before  the 
time  of  execution  (though  for  fear  of  a  reprieve  this 
sentence  was  not  immediately  published)  and  letting  them 
know  that  they  had  just  so  many  days  or  hours  to  live : 
consequently  most  of  them  wasted  away  in  prison  with 
mind-agony,  inability  to  sleep  or  eat;  and  even  opiates 
or  soporifics  administered  surreptitiously  by  the  Belgian 
prison  doctors  were  but  slight  alleviations. 

Bertie  when  first  placed  in  his  cell  at  Saint-Gilles  asked 
for  pen,  ink,  and  paper.  They  were  supplied  to  him. 
He  was  allowed  to  keep  on  the  electric  light  all  night, 
and  he  distracted  his  mind  —  with  some  dreadful  inter- 
vals of  horror  at  his  fate  —  by  trying  to  set  forth  on 
paper  for  Vivie  to  read  an  explanation  and  an  account 
of  his  adventures.  He  intended  to  wind  up  with  an 
appeal  for  his  wife  and  children. 

Vivie  never  quite  knew  how  Bertie  had  managed  to 
cross  the  War  zone  from  France  into  Belgium,  and  reach 
Brussels  without  being  arrested.  When  they  met  in 
prison  they  had  so  little  time  to  discuss  such  details, 
in  face  of  the  one  awful  fact  that  he  was  there,  and  was 
in  all  probability  going  to  die  in  two  days.  But  from 
this  incomplete,  tear-stained  scribble  that  he  left  behind 
and  from  the  answers  he  gave  to  her  few  questions,  she 
gathered  that  the  story  of  his  quest  was  something  like 
this :  — 

He  had  planned  ,an  attempt  to  reach  her  in  Brussels 
or  wherever  she  might  be,  from  the  autumn  of  1914 
onwards.  The  most  practicable  way  of  doing  so  seemed 
to  be  to  pass  as  an  American  engaged  in  Belgian  relief 


356  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

work,  in  the  distribution  of  food.  Direct  attempts  to  be 
enrolled  for  such  work  proved  fruitless,  only  caused 
suspicion;  so  he  lay  low.  In  course  of  time  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  one  of  those  American  agents  of  Mr. 
Hoover  —  a  tousle-haired,  hatless,  happy-go-lucky,  law- 
less individual,  who  made  mock  of  laws,  rules,  precedents, 
and  regulations.  He  concealed  under  a  dry,  taciturn,  un- 
emotional manner  an  intense  hatred  of  the  Germans. 
But  he  was  either  himself  of  enormous  wealth  or  he  had 
access  to  unlimited  national  funds.  He  spent  money  like 
water  to  carry  out  his  relief  work  and  was  lavishly 
generous  to  German  soldiers  or  civilians  if  thereby  he 
might  save  time  and  set  aside  impediments.  He  took  a 
strong  liking  to  Bertie,  though  he  showed  it  little  out- 
wardly. The  latter  probably  in  his  naivete  and  directness 
unveiled  his  full  purpose  to  this  gum-chewing,  grey-eyed 
American.  When  the  news  of  Mrs.  Warren's  death  had 
reached  Bertie  through  a  circuitous  course  —  Praed- 
Honoria-Rossiter  —  he  had  modified  his  scheme  and  at 
the  same  time  had  become  still  more  ardent  about  carry- 
ing it  into  execution.  In  fact  he  felt  that  Mrs.  Warren's 
death  was  opportune,  as  with  her  still  living  and  impos- 
sible to  include  in  a  flight,  Vivie  would  probably  have 
refused  to  come  away. 

Therefore  in  the  summer  of  191 6,  he  asked  his 
American  friend  to  obtain  two  American  passports,  one 
for  himself  and  one  for  "  his  wife,  Mrs.  Violet  Adams." 
Mr.  Praed  had  sent  him  a  credit  for  Five  hundred  pounds 
in  case  he  could  get  it  conveyed  to  Vivie.  Bertie  turned 
the  credit  into  American  bank  notes.  This  money  would 
help  him  to  reach  Brussels  and  once  there,  if  Vivie  would 
consent  to  pass  as  his  wife,  he  might  convey  her  out  of 
Belgium  into  Holland,  as  two  Americans  working  under 
the  Relief  Committee. 

It  had  been  excessively  difficult  and  dangerous  cross- 
ing the  War  zone  and  getting  into  occupied  Belgium. 


BERTIE  ADAMS  357 

There  was  some  hint  in  his  talk  of  an  Alsatian  spy  who 
helped  him  at  this  stage,  one  of  those  "  sanspatries  " 
who  spied  impartially  for  both  sides  and  sold  any  one 
they  could  sell  (Fortunately  after  the  Armistice  most  of 
these  Judases  were  caught  and  shot).  The  spy  had 
probably  at  first  blackmailed  him  when  he  was  in  Belgium 
—  which  is  why  of  the  Five  hundred  pounds  in  dollar 
notes  there  only  remained  about  a  third  in  his  possession 
when  he  reached  Brussels  —  and  then  denounced  him  to 
the  authorities,  for  a  reward. 

But  his  main  misfortune  lay  in  the  long  delay  before 
he  reached  Brussels.  During  that  time,  the  entire 
American  diplomatic  and  consular  staff  was  leaving  Bel- 
gium; and  the  Emperor  was  arriving  more  or  less  secretly 
in  Brussels  (it  was  said  in  the  hope  that  a  personal  talk 
with  Brand  Whitlock  might  stave  off  the  American  decla- 
ration of  war). 

Bertie  on  his  arrival  dared  not  to  go  to  the  American 
legation  for  fear  of  being  found  out  and  disavowed.  So 
he  had  asked  his  way  in  very  "  English  "  French,  and 
wearing  the  semi-military  uniform  of  an  American  Relief 
officer  —  to  the  Hotel  "Edward-Sett,"  where  he  sup- 
posed Vivie  would  be  or  could  be  heard  of.  When  he 
reached  the  Hotel  Imperial  and  asked  for  "  Miss 
Warren,"  he  had  been  at  once  arrested.  Indeed  prob- 
ably his  steps  had  been  followed  all  the  way  from  the 
railway  station  to  the  door  of  the  hotel  by  a  plain-clothes 
German  policeman.  The  Germans  were  convinced  just 
then  that  many  Englishmen  and  some  American  cranks 
were  out  to  assassinate  the  Kaiser.  They  took  Bertie's 
appearance  at  the  door  of  the  Hotel  Imperial  as  a  proof 
of  his  intention.  They  considered  him  to  have  been 
caught  red-handed,  especially  as  he  had  a  revolver  con- 
cealed on  his  person  and  was  obviously  travelling  with 
false  passports. 

"  Ah,  Bertie,"  said  Vivie,  when  they  first  met  in  his 


358  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

cell  at  Saint-Gilles  prison.     "If  only  I  had  not  led  you 
into  this !     I  am  mad  with  myself.  .  .  ." 

"Are  yon,  miss?  But  'oo  could  'a  foreseen  this  war 
would  come  along!  We  thought  all  we  'ad  to  fight  was 
the  Police  and  the  'Ome  Office  to  get  the  Vote.  And 
then,  you'd  'a  bin  able  to  come  out  into  the  open  and 
practise  as  a  barrister  —  and  me,  again,  as  your  clerk. 
It  was  our  damned  Government  that  made  you  go  abroad 
and  get  locked  up  'ere.  And  once  I  realized  you  couldn't 
get  away,  thinks  I  to  meself,  I'll  find  a  way.   .  .  ." 

It  was  here  that  Vivie  began  questioning  him  as  to 
how  he  had  reached  Brussels  from  the  War  zone;  and 
as,  towards  the  end  of  his  story  —  some  of  which  he 
said  she  would  find  he  had  written  down  in  case  they 
wouldn't  let  him  see  her  —  the  reference  to  the  Emperor 
came  in,  she  sprang  up  and  tried  the  door  of  the  cell. 
It  was  fastened  without,  but  a  face  covered  the  small, 
square  opening  through  which  prisoners  were  watched; 
and  a  rough  voice  asked  her  what  she  wanted.  It  was 
the  German  police  agent  or  spy,  who,  perched  on  a 
stool  outside,  next  this  small  window,  was  there  to  listen 
to  all  they  said.  As  they  naturally  spoke  in  English 
and  the  rough  creature  only  knew  "  God-dam,"  and  a 
few  unrepeatable  words,  he  was  not  much  the  wiser  for 
his  vigil. 

"  I  want  —  I  must  see  the  Director,"  said  Vivie. 

Presently  the  Director  came. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Vivie,  "  give  me  paper  and  an  envel- 
ope, I  implore  you.  There  is  pen  and  ink  here  and  I 
will  write  a  letter  to  the  Emperor,  a  petition.  I  will 
tell  him  briefly  the  true  story  of  this  poor  young  man; 
and  then,  if  you  will  only  forward  it  he  may  grant  a 
reprieve." 

The  Director  said  he  would  do  his  best.  After  all, 
you  never  knew ;  and  the  Kaiser,  though  he  said  he  hated 
them  always,  had  a  greater  regard  for  the  English  than 


BERTIE  ADAMS  359 


c  r.  .  ^tlnpr  nation  As  he  glanced  from  Vivie  and  her 
:ce  o  a  *n  zXppeal  to  the'-steadfast  gaze  which  Berfe 
fixed  on  her,  as  on  some  fairy  godmother,  h,s  owrt  eye. 
fi^  d  with  t^ars-as  indeed  they  d.d  many,  many  t.mes 
over  the  tragic  scenes  of  the  German  Terror. 

Anotlier   request.     Coidd  Vivie   see   or  commuracate 
Anotner  req     et^^helberg?  — with  Pasteur  Walcker? 
with  Grahn  von  btacneiucif,.  <■  xintlimo-  of  the 

Here  the  pohce  agent  mtervened—  Nothing  ot  tne 
WIndl  You're  not  gSing  to  hold  a  salon  here.  Far  too 
manv  concessions  already.  Much  more  fuss  and  trouble, 
Zil  shaU  take  you  back  to  the  Kommandantur  and  re- 
port Write  your  letter  to  the  All  Highest,  who  may 
ttn  to  receiv'e  it.  As  to  Pastor  Walcker,  he  shall  come 
to  morrow,  Sunday,  to  prepare  the  Englishman  for  his 

''vWi:'w"Li;;^er- probably  in  very  incoherent 
lan™™e      It  was  handed  to  the  German  police  agent 
Kued  sardonically  as  he  took  it  in  his  horny  hand 
with  U    dirty  broken  nails.     The  Governor  General  dis- 
Sd  Sese  appeals  to  the  All  Highest.     Indeed    m  mo 
cases  executions  that  were  intended  to  take  pla<:e  w^'^ 
^nly  announced  at  the  same  time  as  the  condemna  ion  to 
ohviatp  the  worry  of  these  appeals.     Besides,  ne  Knew 
?he  Emperor  had  left  that  morning  for  Charlev.lle,  after 
having  bestowed  several  decorations  on  the  pohce  official 
who  told  him  they  had  just  frustrated  an  English  plot  for 
his  assassination. 

Vivie  and  Bertie  were  at  length  alone,  for  the  police 
a  Jnt  warbored,  couldn't  understand  their  ta  k,  and 
.fve  himself  an  afternoon  off.  In  this  prison  of  Sa.nt- 
aUes  the  cells  were  in  many  ways  superior  to  those  of 
En.d;h  prisons.  They  were  well  lit  through  a  long  win- 
dow not  so  high  up  but  that  by  standing  on  a  chair  you 
Sd  bok  out'on  the  prison  garden.  Through  this  win- 
dow the  rays  of  the  sun  could  penetrate  into  and  light  up 


36o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  cell.  There  was  no  unpleasant  smell  —  one  of  the 
horrors  of  Holloway.  The  floor  was  a  polished  parquet. 
The  bed  was  comfortable.  There  was  a  table,  even  a 
book-shelf.  The  toilet  arrangements  were  in  no  way  re- 
pulsive or  obvious. 

Vivie  insisted  on  Bertie  lying  down  on  the  bed;  she 
would  sit  on  the  chair  by  his  side.  He  must  be  so  ex- 
hausted  

"And  what  about  you,  miss?  I'll  lay  you  ain't  slept 
these  last  three  nights.  What  a  mess  I've  made  of  the 
'ole  thing !  " 

"  Bertie !  Why  did  you  do  this  ?  Why  did  you  risk 
your  life  to  come  here;  oh  why,  oh  why?"  wailed 
Vivie. 

"  Because  I  loved  you,  because  I've  always  loved  you, 
better'n  any  one  else  on  earth  —  since  I  was  a  boy  of 
fourteen  and  you  spoke  so  kind  to  me  and  encouraged 
me  to  get  on  and  improve  myself ;  and  giv'  me  books, 
and  encouraged  me  about  me  cricket.  I  suppose  I'm  go- 
ing to  die,  so  I  ain't  got  any  shame  about  tellin'  5^ou  all 
this.     Though  if  I  thought  I  was  goin'  to  live,  I'd  cut  my 

tongue  out  sooner'n  offend  you Oh," —  he  gave  a 

kind  of  groan "  When  the  news  come  about  Mrs. 

Warren  bein'  dead  an'  you  p'raps  without  money  and  at 
the  mercy  of  these  Germans  ,  .  .  well!  —  all  I  wonder 
at  is  I  didn't  steal  an  airyplane,  and  come  in  that.  I  tell 
you  I  had  to  exercise  great  self-control  to  stay  week  after 
week  fiddling  with  the  food  distribution  and  pretendin'  to 
be  an  American.  .  .  . 

"  Well !  There  it  is !  We  must  all  die  sooner  or  later. 
It's  a  wonder  I  ain't  dead  already.  I've  bin  in  some  tight 
places  since  I  come  out  for  the  Y.M.C.A.  .  .  . 

"And  talkin'  about  the  Y.M.C.A.,  miss,  I  do  heg  of 
you,  if  you  get  out  of  this  —  an'  I'm  sure  you  will  — 
they'll  never  kill  you,"  said  Bertie  adoringly,  looking  up 
at  the  grave,  beautiful  face  that  bent  over  him)  —  "  I  do 


BERTIE  ADAMS  361 

heg  of  you  to  make  matters  right  with  the  Y.M.C.A,  I 
ain't  taken  away  one  penny  of  their  money  —  I  served 
'em  faithfully  up  to  the  last  day  before  I  saw  my  chance  of 
hooking  it  across  the  lines  —  They  must  think  me  dead  — 
and  so  must  poor  Nance,  my  wife.  For  I  haven't  dared 
to  write  to  any  one  since  I've  bin  in  Belgium.  But  I  did 
send  her  a  line  'fore  I  started,  say  in',  '  Don't  be  surprised 
if  you  get  no  letter  from  me  for  some  time.  I'll  turn  up 
all  right,  you  bet  your  boots ' 

"  That  may  'ave  kept  'er  'opin'.  An'  soon  you'll  be 
able  to  let  'er  know.  Who  can  say  ?  /  dunno !  But 
Peace,  you'd  think,  must  come  soon  —  Seems  like  our 
poor  old  world  is  coming'  to  an  end,  don't  it?  What 
times  we've  'ad  —  if  you  don't  mind  me  puttin'  it  like 
that !  I  remember  when  I  had  to  be  awful  careful  always 
to  say  '  Sir  '  to  you,  and  '  Mr.  David  '  or  '  Mr.  Wil- 
liams '  " —  and  a  roguish  look,  a  gleam  of  merriment 
came  into  Bertie's  eyes,  and  he  laughed  a  laugh  that  was 
half  sob.  "If  you  was  to  write  your  life,  no  one  'ud 
believe  it,  miss.  It  licks  any  novel  I  ever  read  —  and 
I've  read  a  tidy  few,  looking  after  the  Y.M.C.A. 
libraries.  .  .  . 

"  My !  But  you  was  wonderful  as  a  pleader  in  the 
courts !  I  used  sometimes  to  reg'lar  cry  when  I  heard 
you  takin'  up  the  case  of  some  poor  girl  as  'ad  bin  de- 
serted by  'er  feller,  and  killed  'er  baby.  *  Tricks  of  the 
trade,'  says  some  other  barrister's  clerk,  sneerin'  because 
you  wasn't  'is  boss.  An'  then  I'd  punch  'is  'ead.  .  .  . 
An'  I  don't  reckon  myself  a  soft-'earted  feller  as  a  rule. 
.  .  .     Reklect  that  Shillito  Case  — ?  " 

"  Don't,  Bertie !  Don't  say  such  things  in  praise  of 
me.  I'm  not  zvortJi  such  love.  I'm  just  an  arrogant, 
vain,  quarrelsome  woman.  .  .  .  Look  how  many  people 
I've  deceived,  what  little  good  I've  really  done  in  the 
world  — " 

"  Rub  —  bish !     You  done  good  wherever  you  went. 


362  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

...  to  my  pore  mother  —  wonder,  by  the  bye,  what  she 
thinks  and  'ow  she's  gettin'  on?  Sons  are  awful  ungrate- 
ful and  f orgettin'.  What  with  you  —  and  Nance  —  and 
the  little  'uns,  I  ain't  scarcely  give  a  thought  to  poor 
mother.     But  you'll  let  her  know,  won't  you,  miss?  .  .  . 

"  Think  'ow  good  you  was  to  your  old  father  down  in 
Wales,  'im  as  you  called  your  father  —  an'  'oo's  to  say 
'e  wasn't?  You  never  know.  .  .  .  Miss  Warren!  what 
a  pity  it  is  you  never  married.  There's  lots  was  sweet  on 
you,  I'll  bet.  Yet  I  remember  I  used  to  'ate  the  idea 
of  your  doin'  so,  and  was  glad  you  dressed  up  as  a  man, 
an'  took  'em  all  in.  ...  I  may  tell  you  all,  miss,  now 
I'm  goin'  to  die,  day  after  to-morrow.  My  poor  Nance! 
She  see  there  was  some  one  that  always  occupied  my 
mind,  and  she  used  "to  get  jealous-like,  at  times.  But 
never  did  I  let  on  it  was  you.  Why  I  wouldn't  even 
'av  said  it  to  myself  —  I  respected  you  more  than  — 
than " 

And  Bertie,  at  a  loss  for  a  parallel,  ceased  speaking 
for  a  time,  and  gulped  down  the  sobs  that  were  master- 
ing him. 

Then,  after  this  pause "  I  haven't  a  word  to 

say  against  Nance.  No  one  could  'a  bin  a  better  wife. 
I  know,  miss,  if  you  get  away  from  here  you'll  look  after 
her  and  my  kids?  I  ain't  bin  much  of  a  father  to  'em 
lately.  P'raps  this  is  a  punishment  for  neglecting  my 
home  duties  —  As  they  used  to  say  to  you  when  you  was 
Suffragin'."  He  gave  a  bitter  laugh — "  Two  such  nice 
kids.  ...  I  ain't  seen  'em  since  last  February  twelve- 
month .  .  .  more'n  a  year  ago  ...  I  got  a  bit  of 
leave  then.  .  .  .  There's  little  Vivie  —  the  one  we 
called  after  you.  .  .  .  She's  growin'  up  so  pretty  .  .  . 
and  Bert !  'E'll  be  a  bigger  and  a  better  man  than  me, 
some  day.  'E's  started  in  life  with  better  chances.  I 
'ope  'e'll  be  a  cricketer.  There's  no  game  comes  up  to 
cricket,  in  my  opinion.  .  .  ." 


BERTIE  ADAMS  363 

At  this  juncture,  the  Belgian  Directeur  of  the  jail 
opened  the  door  and  asked  Vivie  to  follow  him,  telling 
Bertie  she  would  return  in  the  afternoon.  At  the  same 
time,  a  warder  escorting  two  good  conduct  prisoners 
who  did  the  food  distribution  proceeded  to  place  quite 
an  appetizing  meal  in  Bertie's  cell.  "  Dear  miss,"  said 
the  Directeur  in  French,  "  You  are  so  wise,  I  know,  you 
will  do  what  I  wish  .  .  ,  ?  " 

(Vivie  bowed.) 

"  I  shall  not  send  you  back  to  the  Kommandantur.  I 
will  take  that  on  myself.  But  I  must  regard  you  while 
here  as  my  prisoner" — he  smiled  sadly — "Come  with 
me.  I  will  give  you  a  nice  cell  where  you  shall  eat  and 
sleep,  and  —  yes  —  and  my  wife  shall  come  and  see 
you.  .  .  ." 

In  the  evening  of  that  day,  Vivie  was  led  back  to 
Bertie's  cell.  There  she  found  kind  Pasteur  Walcker. 
In  some  way  he  had  heard  of  Bertie's  condemnation  — 
perhaps  seen  it  posted  up  on  a  Red  Placard  —  and  in  his 
quiet  assumption  that  whatever  he  did  was  right,  had 
not  waited  for  an  official  summons  but  had  presented  him- 
self at  the  prison  of  Saint-Gilles  and  asked  to  see  the 
Directeur.  He  constituted  himself  Bertie's  spiritual  di- 
rector from  that  time  onwards.  ...  He  spoke  very 
little  English  but  he  was  there  more  to  sympathize  than 
to  preach  

"  Ce  n  est  pas,  chere  Mamselle  cjue  je  suis  venu  le 
troubler  sur  les  questions  de  religion.  J'ai  voulu  le 
rassurer  —  et  vous  aussi  —  que  j'ai  deja  mis  en  train 
tous  les  procedes  possibles,  et  que  je  connais,  pour  ob- 
tenir  sa  grace.  .  .  .  But,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  spoken 
to  the  prison  doctor  and  begged  him  meantime  to  give 
the  poor  young  man  an  injection  or  a  dose  of  something 
to  make  him  sleep  a  little  while.  .  .  ." 

Then  he  withdrew. 


364  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

The  daylight  turned  pink  and  faded  to  grey  whilst 
Vivie  sat  by  the  bed  holding  the  left  hand  of  the  sleeping 
man.  Exhausted  with  emotion,  she  dropped  off  to  sleep 
herself,  slid  off  the  chair  on  to  the  parquet,  laid  her 
head  on  the  angle  of  his  pillow  and  slept  likewise.  .  .  . 

The  electric  light  suddenly  shone  out  from  a  globe 
in  the  angle  of  the  wall  which  served  two  cells.  She 
awoke ;  Bertie  awoke.  He  was  still  happy  in  some  opiate 
dream  and  his  e^es  in  his  haggard  face  looked  at  her 
with  a  sleepy,  happy  affection.  Loth  to  awaken  him  to 
reality  she  kissed  him  on  the  cheek  and  withdrew  from 
the  cell  —  for  the  Directeur,  out  of  delicacy,  had  with- 
drawn and  left  the  door  ajar.  She  rejoined  him  in  the 
corridor  and  he  led  her  to  her  own  quarters  for  the 
night;  where,  worn  out  with  sorrow  and  fatigue,  she 
undressed  and  slept  dreamlessly. 

But  the  hour  of  the  awakening  on  that  wintry  Sun- 
day morning!  It  was  snowing  intermittently  and  the 
sky,  seen  from  the  high  window,  was  lead-coloured. 
Owing  to  the  scarcity  of  fuel,  the  cell  was  unwanned. 
She  dressed  hurriedly,  feeling  still  untidy  and  dishevelled 
when  she  had  finished.  Her  breakfast,  and  with  it  a 
little  packet  of  white  powder  from  the  prison  doctor,  to 
be  taken  with  the  breakfast.  She  swallowed  it.  If  it 
were  poison  sent  by  the  German  Government,  what  mat- 
ter ?  But  it  was  in  reality  some  drug  which  took  the  edge 
off  sorrow. 

Bertie  had  evidently  been  given  a  similar  dose.  They 
spent  the  morning  and  the  afternoon  of  that  Sunday  to- 
gether, almost  happily.  With  intervals  of  dreamy 
silence,  they  talked  of  old  times.  Neither  would  have 
been  surprised  had  the  cell  walls  dissolved  as  in  a  trans- 
formation scene  and  they  had  been  able  to  step  out  into 
the  Fountain  Court  of  the  Temple  or  into  the  cheerful 
traffic  of  Chancery  Lane. 

When  however  she  returned  to  his  cell  after  her  eve- 


BERTIE  ADAMS  365 

niiig  meal,  his  mood  had  changed;  the  effect  of  the  drug 
had  passed.  He  had  moods  of  despair  and  wild  crying. 
No  response  had  come,  no  answer  to  Vivie's  appeal,  no 
result  from  Monsieur  Walcker's  activities.  Bertie  re- 
proached himself  for  cowardice  .  .  .  then  the  doctor 
came  in.  "An  injection  in  the  arm?  So!  He  will 
sleep  now  till  morning.  Esperons  toujours!  Et  vous, 
ma  pauvre  Alademoiselle.  Vous  etes  excedee.  Permet- 
tez  que  je  vous  fasse  la  meme  piqure?  " 

But  she  thanked  him  and  said  she  wanted  all  her  wits 
about  her,  though  she  promised  "  se  maitriser  " — to  keep 
calm. 

What  a  night !  Her  ears  had  a  sense  of  hearing  that 
was  preternaturally  acute.  The  most  distant  step  in  the 
corridors  was  audible.  Was  it  a  reprieve?  One  such 
sound  multiplied  itself  into  the  footsteps  of  two  men 
walking,  coming  ever  nearer —  nearer  —  nearer  till  they 
stopped  outside  her  cell  door.  With  a  clank  it  was 
■opened.  She  sprang  up.  Fortunately  she  had  not  un- 
dressed. "You've  brought  a  reprieve?"  she  gasped. 
But  the  Directeur  and  Monsieur  Walcker  only  stood  with 
downcast  faces.  "  It  will  soon  be  morning,"  the  Direc- 
teur said.  "  There  is  no  hope  of  a  reprieve.  He  is  to  be 
executed  at  seven  at  the  Tir  National.  All  we  have 
secured  for  you  is  permission  to  accompany  him  to  the 
end.  But  if  you  think  that  too  painful,  too  great  a  strain, 
I  would  suggest  that  you " 

"  Nothing  could  overstrain  me,"  said  Vivie,  "  or  rather 
I  don't  care  if  anything  kills  me.  I  will  go  with  him  and 
stay  with  him,  till  the  very  last  moment,  stay  with  him 
till  he  is  buried  if  you  permit !  " 

She  made  some  hasty  toilette,  more  because  she  wanted 
to  look  a  fit  companion  for  him,  and  not  a  wretched 
derelict.  They  summoned  her,  proffering  a  cup  of  acorn 
coffee,  which  she  waved  aside.  The  bitter  cold  air  of 
the  snowy  April  morning  braced  her.     She  entered  the 


366  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

shuttered,  armoured  prison  taxi  in  which  Bertie  and  a 
soldier  were  placed  already,  Bertie  had  his  arms  tied, 
but  not  too  painfully.  He  was  shivering  with  the  cold, 
but  as  he  said,  "  Not  afraid,  miss.  It'll  come  out  allright, 
some'ow.  That  Mr.  Walcker,  'e  done  me  a  lot  of  good. 
At  any  rate  I'll  show  how  an  Englishman  can  die. 
'Sides  'e  says  reprieves  sometimes  comes  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. They  takes  a  pleasure  in  tantalizin  you.  And 
the  doctor  put  somethin'  in  me  cup  of  coffee,  sort  of  keeps 
me  spirits  up." 

But  for  Vivie,  that  drive  was  an  unforgettable  agony. 
They  went  through  suburbs  where  the  roads  had  been  un- 
repaired or  torn  up  by  shrapnel.  The  snow  lay  in  places 
so  thickly  that  it  nearly  stopped  the  motor.  Still,  it  came 
to  an  end  at  last.  The  door  on  one  side  was  wrenched 
open ;  she  was  pulled  out  rather  unceremoniously ;  then, 
the  pinioned  Bertie,  who  was  handed  over  to  a  guard ;  and 
the  soldier  escort  after  him,  who  took  his  place  promptly 
by  his  side.  Vivie  had  just  time  to  note  the  ugly  red- 
brick exterior  of  the  main  building  of  the  Tir  National. 
It  reminded  her  vaguely  of  some  hastily-constructed  Ex- 
hibition at  Earl's  Court  or  Olympia.  Then  she  was 
pushed  inside  a  swinging  door,  into  a  freezing  corridor; 
where  the  Prison  Directeur  and  Monsieur  Walcker  were 
standing  —  irresolute,  weeping.  .  .  . 

"  Where  is  Bertie?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  is  being  prepared  for  the  shooting  party,"  they 
answered.  "  It  will  soon  be  over  .  ,  .  dear  dear  lady 
.  .  .  try  to  be  calm  — " 

"  I  will  be  as  calm  as  you  like,"  she  said,  "  I  will  be- 
have with  the  utmost  correctitude  or  whatever  you  call 
it,  if  you  —  if  they  —  the  soldiers  —  the  officer  —  will 
let  me  see  him  —  as  you  promised  —  up  to  the  last,  the 
very  last.  But  by  God  —  if  there  is  a  God  —  if  you  or 
they  prevent  me,  I'll " 

Inexplicably,  sheer  mind-force  prevailed,  without  the 


BERTIE  ADAMS  367 

need  for  formulating  the  threat  the  poor  grief-maddened 
woman  might  have  uttered  —  she  moved  unresisted  to  a 
swing  door  which  opened  on  to  a  kind  of  verandah. 
Here  was  drawn  up  the  firing  party,  and  in  front  of  them, 
fifteen  feet  away  on  snow-sodden,  trampled  grass,  stood 
Bertie.  He  caught  sight  of  Vivie  passing  in,  behind  the 
firing  party,  and  standing  beyond  them  at  the  verandah 
rail.  He  straightened  himself;  ducked  his  head  aside 
from  the  handkerchief  with  which  they  were  going  to 
bandage  his  eyes,  and  shouted  "  Take  away  your  blasted 
handkerchief!  /  ain't  afraid  o'  the  guns,  li  you'll  let 
me  look  at  HER,  I'll  stand  as  quiet  as  quiet." 

The  officer  in  command  of  the  firing  party  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  The  soldier  escort  desisted  from  his  at- 
tempts to  blindfold  the  Englishman  and  stood  aside,  out 
of  range.  Bertie  fixed  his  glowing  eyes  on  the  woman 
he  had  loved  from  his  youth  up,  the  rifles  rang  out  with 
a  reverberating  bellow,  and  he  fell  out  of  her  sight, 
screened  by  the  soldiers,  a  crumpled  body  over  which  they 
threw  a  sheet. 

What  happened  then  to  Vivie?  I  suppose  you  expect 
the  time-worn  trick  of  the  weary  novelist,  anxious  to 
put  his  pen  down  and  go  to  his  tea :  "  Then  she  seemed 
swallowed  up  in  a  cloud  of  blackness  and  knew  no  more  " 
—  till  it  was  convenient  to  the  narrator  to  begin  a  fresh 
chapter.  But  with  me  it  must  be  the  relentless  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  in  all  its  aspects.  Vivie  was 
deafened,  nearly  stunned  by  the  frightful  noise  of  the 
volley  in  a  confined  space.  Next,  she  was  being  un- 
ceremoniously pushed  out  of  the  verandah,  into  the  cor- 
ridor, and  so  out  into  the  snow-covered  space  in  front  of 
the  brick  building;  whilst  the  officer  was  examining  the 
dead  body  of  the  fallen  man,  ready  to  give  the  coup-de- 
grace,  if  he  were  not  dead.  But  he  was.  Vivie  was 
next  conscious  that  she  had  the  most  dreadful,  blinding 
headache  she  had  ever  known,  and  with  it  felt  an  irresist- 


368  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

ible  nausea.  The  prison  Directeiir  was  taking  her  hand 
and  saying:  "  Mademoiselle:  it  is  my  duty  to  inform  you 
that  you  are  no  longer  under  arrest.  You  are  free  to  re- 
turn to  your  lodging."  Minna  von  Stachelberg  had 
come  from  somewhere  and  was  taking  her  right  arm,  to 
lead  her  Brussels-ward ;  and  Pasteur  Walcker  was  rang- 
ing himself  alongside  to  be  her  escort.  Unable  to  reply 
to  any  of  them,  she  strode  forward  by  herself  to  where 
under  the  snow  lay  an  ill-kept  grass  plot,  and  there  was 
violently  sick.  The  anaesthetics  and  soporifics  of  the  last 
two  days  were  having  their  usual  aftermath.  After  that 
came  on  a  shuddering  faintness  and  a  rigor  of  shivers, 
under  which  her  teeth  clacked.  Some  doctor  came  for- 
ward with  a  little  brandy.  She  put  the  glass  to  her  lips, 
then  pushed  it  aside,  took  Pasteur  Walcker's  proffered 
arm,  and  walked  towards  the  tram  terminus. 

Then  they  were  in  the  tram,  going  towards  the  heart 
of  Brussels.  How  commonplace !  Fat  frowsy  market 
women  got  in  —  or  got  out  —  with  their  baskets ;  clerks 
entered  with  portfolios  —  don't  they  call  them  "  ser- 
viettes "  ? —  under  their  arms ;  German  policemen,  Belgian 
gendarmes,  German  soldiers,  a  priest  with  his  breviary 
came  and  went  as  though  this  Monday  morning  were  like 
any  other.  Vivie  walked  quite  firmly  and  staidly  from 
the  tram  halt  to  the  Walckers'  house  in  the  Rue  Haute. 
There  she  was  met  by  Madame  Walcker,  who  at  a 
sign  from  her  husband  took  her  upstairs,  silently  un- 
dressed her  and  put  her  to  bed  with  a  hot  water  bottle 
and  a  cup  of  some  hot  drink  which  tasted  a  little  of 
coffee. 

After  that  Vivie  passed  three  days  of  great  sickness 
and  nausea,  a  furred  tongue,  and  positively  no  appetite. 
Finally  she  arose  a  week  after  the  execution  and  looked 
at  herself  in  the  mirror.  She  was  terribly  haggard,  she 
looked  at  least  fifty-five — "They  must  have  taken  me 
for  his  mother  or  his  aunt;  never  for  his  sweetheart," 


BERTIE  ADAMS  369 

she  commented  bitterly  to  herself.  And  her  brown-gold 
hair  was  now  distinctly  a  cinder  grey. 

The  next  day  she  w^ent  back  to  work  at  the  hospital. 

To  Minna,  she  said :  "  I  can  never,  never,  never  forget 
your  kindness  and  sympathy.  *  Sister  '  seems  an  insuf- 
ficient name  to  call  you  by.  Whatever  happens,  unless 
you  cast  me  off,  we  shall  be  friends.  ...  I  dare  say 
I  even  ow^e  my  life  to  you,  if  it  is  worth  anything.  But 
it  is.  I  want  to  live  —  now  —  I  want  to  live  to  be  re- 
venged. I  want  to  live  to  help  Bertie's  " —  her  voice  still 
shook  over  the  name — "Bertie's  wufe  and  children.  I 
expect  but  for  you  I  should  have  been  tried  already  in 
the  Senate  for  complicity  with  .  .  .  Bertie  .  .  .  and 
found  guilty  and  shot.  .  .  ." 

Minna:  "  I  won't  go  so  far  as  to  say  you  are  right. 
But  I  certainly  was  alarmed  about  you,  when  you  were 
arrested.  Of  course  I  knew  nothing  —  nothing  —  about 
that  poor  young  man  till  just  before  his  execution  when 
Pastor  Walcker  came  to  me.  Even  then  I  could  do  noth- 
ing, and  I  understood  so  badly  what  had  happened..  But 
about  you :  I  said  to  myself,  if  I  do  not  do  something, 
you  can  perhaps  be  sentenced  to  imprisonment  .  .  .  and 
I  did  bestir  myself,  you  can  bet!"  (Minna  liked  to 
show  she  knew  a  slangy  phrase  or  two.)  "  So  I  tele- 
graphed to  the  Emperor,  I  besieged  von  Bissing  at  the 
Ministere  des  Sciences  et  des  Arts;  wrote  to  him,  tele- 
graphed to  him,  telephoned  to  him,  sat  in  his  anterooms, 
neglected  my  hospital  work  entirely  from  Friday  to  Mon- 
day  

"  I  expect  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  found  nothing  in 
that  poor  young's  man's  papers  to  implicate  you.  They 
just  wanted  —  the  brutes  —  to  give  you  a  good  fright 
.  .  .  and  I  dare  say  .  .  .  such  is  the  military  mind — • 
even  wished  you  to  see  him  shot. 

"  By  the  bye,  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that  von  Bis- 
sing is  very  ill?     Dying,  perhaps " 


370  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Vivie:  "  I  Jiope  so.  I  am  so  glad.  I  hope  it's  a  pain- 
ful illness  and  that  he'll  die  and  find  there  really  is  a  Hell, 
and  an  uncommonly  hot  one !  " 

It  must  not  be  supposed  from  the  frequent  quotations 
from  Countess  von  Stachelberg's  condemnations  of  Ger- 
man cruelties  that  she  was  an  unpatriotic  woman,  re- 
pudiating, apostatizing  from  her  own  country.  On  the 
contrary :  she  held  —  mistakenly  or  not  —  that  Germany 
had  been  the  victim  of  secret  diplomacy,  had  been  en- 
circled by  a  ring  fence  of  enemies,  refused  the  economic 
guarantees  she  required,  and  the  colonial  expansion  she 
desired.  Minna  disliked  the  Slavs,  did  not  believe  in 
them,  save  as  musicians,  singers,  painters,  dancers,  and 
actors.  She  believed  Germany  had  a  great  civilizing, 
culture-spreading  mission  in  South-east  Europe ;  and  that 
the  germs  of  this  war  lay  in  the  policy  of  Chamberlain, 
the  protectionism  of  the  United  States,  the  revengeful 
spirit  and  colonial  selfishness  of  France. 

But  she  shuddered  over  the  German  cruelties  in  Bel- 
gium and  France.  The  horrors  of  War  were  a  revela- 
tion to  her  and  she  was  henceforth  a  Pacifist  before  all 
things.  "  Your  old  statesmen  and  our  old  or  middle-aged 
generals,  my  dear,  are  alike  to  blame.  But  you  and  I 
know  where  the  real  mischief  lies.  We  are  mis-ruled 
by  an  All-Man  Government.  I,  certainly,  don't  want  the 
other  extreme,  an  All-Woman  Government.  What  we 
want,  and  must  have,  is  a  Man-and-Woman  —  a  Mar- 
ried —  Government,  Then  we  shall  settle  our  differences 
without  going  to  war." 

Vivie  agreed  with  her,  cordially. 

She  —  Vivie  —  I  really  ought  to  begin  calling  her 
"  Vivien  "  :  she  is  forty-one  by  now  —  in  resuming  her 
duties  at  the  Hopital  de  St.  Pierre  found  no  repugnance 
in  tending  wounded  German  soldiers  —  the  officers  she 
did  shrink  from  —  She  realized  that  the  soldiers  were  but 


BERTIE  ADAMS  371 

the  slaves  of  the  officer  class,  of  Kaiserdom.  Her  re- 
ward for  this  degree  of  Christianity  was  to  have  a  batch 
of  wounded  English  boys  or  men  to  look  after.  She 
saw  again  Bertie  Adams  in  many  of  them,  especially  in 
the  sergeants  and  corporals.  They,  in  turn,  thought  her 
a  very  handsome,  stately  lady,  but  rather  maudlin  at 
times.  "  So  easy  to  set  'er  off  a-cryin'  as  though  'er 
'eart  would  break,  poor  thing.  .  .  .  And  I  says  '  why 
ma'am,  the  pain's  nuthin' ,  nuthin'  to  what  it  use  ter  be.' 
'Spec'  she  lost  some  son  in  the  war.  Wonder  'ow  she 
came  to  be  'ere?     Ain't  the  Germans  afraid  of  'er !  "  .  .  . 

They  were.  The  mental  agony  she  had  been  through 
had  etherialized  her  face,  added  to  its  look  of  age  and 
gravity,  but  imparted  likewise  a  sort  of  "  awfulness." 
She  exhaled  an  aura  of  righteous  authority.  She  had 
been  through  the  furnace,  and  foolishness  and  petulance 
had  been  burnt  out  of  her  .  .  .  though,  thank  goodness, 
she  retained  some  sense  of  humour.  She  had  probably 
never  been  so  handsome  from  the  painter's  point  of  view, 
though  one  could  not  imagine  a  young  man  falling  in 
love  with  her  now. 

Her  personality  was  first  definitely  noted  by  the 
Bruxellois  the  day  that  von  Bissing's  funeral  cortege 
passed  through  the  streets  of  Brussels  on  its  way  to  Ger- 
many. Vivien  Warren  was  sufficiently  restored  to 
health  then  to  stand  on  the  steps  of  some  monument  and 
cry  "  Vive  la  Belgique !  A  bas  les  tyrans !  "  The  police- 
men and  the  spies  looked  another  way  and  affected  deaf- 
ness. They  had  orders  not  to  arrest  her  unless  she 
actually  resorted  to  firearms  or  other  lethal  weapons. 

It  was  said  that  her  appeal  for  Bertie  Adams  did 
reach  the  Emperor,  two  days  too  late ;  that  he  pished  and 
pshawed  over  von  Bissing's  cruel  precipitancy.  "  Eng- 
lishmen," he  muttered  to  his  entourage,  "  don't  assas- 
sinate. The  Irish  do.  But  hozv  I'm  going  to  make  peace 
with  England,  /  don't  know  ...    !  " 


372  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

(His  Hell  on  Earth  must  have  been  that  few  people 
admired  the  English  character  more  than  he  did,  and 
yet,  unprovoked,  he  had  blundered  into  war  with  Eng- 
land.) 

However,  though  it  was  too  late  to  save  "  this  lunatic 
Adams,"  he  gave  orders  that  Vivie  was  to  be  let  alone. 
He  even,  through  Grafin  von  Stachelberg,  transmitted  to 
her  his  regrets  that  she  and  her  mother  had  been  treated 
so  cavalierly  at  the  Hotel  Imperial.  It  was  not  through 
any  orders  of  his. 

So:  Vivie  became  quite  a  power  in  Brussels  during 
that  last  anxious  year  and  a  half  of  waiting,  between  May, 
1917,  and  November,  1918.  German  soldiers,  still  limp- 
ing from  their  wounds,  saluted  her  in  the  street,  remem- 
bering her  kindness  in  hospital,  and  the  letters  she  un- 
weariedly  wrote  at  their  dictation  to  their  wives  and 
families  —  for  she  had  become  quite  a  scholar  in  Ger- 
man. The  scanty  remains  of  the  British  Colony  and 
the  great  ladies  among  the  patriotic  Belgians  now  realized 
how  false  were  the  stories  that  had  circulated  about  her 
in  the  first  year  of  the  War;  and  extended  to  her  their 
friendship.  And  the  Spanish  Minister  who  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  American  as  protector  of  British  subjects, 
invited  her  to  all  the  fetes  he  gave  for  Belgian  charities 
and  Red  Cross  funds.  Through  his  Legation  she  en- 
deavoured to  send  information  to  the  Y.M.C.A.  and  to 
Bertie's  widow  that  Albert  Adams  of  the  Y.M.C.A.  "  had 
died  in  Brussels  from  the  consequences  of  the  War." 

I  dare  say  in  the  autumn  of  1917,  if  Vivien  Warren 
had  applied  through  the  Spanish  Minister  for  a  passport 
to  leave  Belgium  for  some  neutral  country,  it  would  have 
been  accorded  to  her :  the  German  authorities  would  have 
iDeen  thankful  to  see  her  no  more.  She  reminded  them 
of  one  of  the  cruellest  acts  of  their  administration.  But 
she  preferred  to  stay  for  the  historical  revenge  of  seeing 
the  Germans  driven  out  of  Belgium,  and  Belgian  inde- 


BERTIE  ADAMS  373 

pendence  restored.  And  she  could  not  go  lest  Bertie's 
grave  should  be  forgotten.  In  common  with  Edith 
Cavell,  Gabrielle  Petit,  Philippe  Bauck,  and  the  other 
forty  or  fifty  victims  of  von  Bissing's  "  Terror,"  he  had 
been  buried  in  the  grassy  slopes  of  the  amphitheatre  of 
the  Rifle  range,  near  where  he  had  been  executed.  Every 
Sunday,  wet  or  fine,  Vivien  went  there  with  fresh 
flowers.  She  had  marked  the  actual  grave  with  a  small 
wooden  cross  bearing  his  name,  till  the  time  should  come 
when  she  could  have  his  remains  transferred  to  English 
soil. 

One  day,  as  she  was  leaving  the  hospital  in  the  autumn 
of  1917,  a  shabby  man  pushed  into  her  hand  a  soiled, 
way-worn  copy  of  the  Times,  a  fortnight  old.  "  Three 
francs,"  he  whispered.  She  paid  him.  It  was  no  un- 
common thing  for  her  or  one  of  her  English  or  Belgian 
acquaintances  to  buy  the  Times  or  some  other  English 
daily  at  a  price  ranging  from  one  franc  to  ten,  and  then 
pass  it  round  the  friendly  circle  of  subscribers  who  ap- 
portioned the  cost.  On  this  occasion  she  opened  her 
Times  in  the  tram,  going  home,  and  glanced  at  its 
columns.  In  any  one  but  "  Mees  Varennes  "  in  these 
days  of  1917,  1918,  this  would  have  been  a  punishable 
ofifence;  but  in  her  case  no  spy  or  policeman  noted  the 
infringement  of  regulations  about  the  enemy  press.  On 
one  of  the  pages  she  read  the  account  of  a  bad  air-raid 
on  Portland  Place,  and  a  reference  —  with  a  short  obit- 
uary notice  elsewhere  —  to  the  death  of  one  of  the  vic- 
tims of  the  German  bombs.  This  was  "  Linda,  Lady 
Rossiter,  the  dearly  loved  wife  of  Sir  Michael  Rossiter, 
whose  discoveries  in  the  way  of  bone  grafting  and  other 
forms  of  curative  surgery  had  been  among  the  outstand- 
ing achievements  in  etc.,  etc." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Vivien  to  herself,  as  the  tram 
coursed  on  beyond  her  usual  stopping  place  and  the  con- 
ductor obstinately  looked  the  other  way,  "  I'm  glad  she 


374  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

lived  to  be  Lady  Rossiter.  It  must  have  given  her  such 
pleasure.  Poor  thing !  And  to  think  the  knowledge  that 
he's  a  widower  hardly  stirs  my  pulses  one  extra  beat. 
And  how  I  loved  that  man,  seven  years,  six  years,  five 
years  ago !  Hullo !  Where  am  I  ?  Miles  from  the  Rue 
Haute!     Conducteur!     Arretez,  s'il  vous  plait." 


CHAPTER  XX 

AFTER   THE   ARMISTICE 

THE  Bruxellois  felt  very  disheartened  In  the  closing 
months  of  191 7.  The  Russian  revolution  had 
brought  about  the  collapse  of  Russia  as  an  enemy  of  Ger- 
many; and  the  Germans  were  enabled  to  transport  most 
of  their  troops  on  the  Russian  frontier  to  the  w^est  and 
to  the  Italian  frontier.  Italy  had  lost  half  Venetia  and 
enormous  quantities  of  guns  in  the  breach  of  her  defences 
at  Caporetto.  It  seemed  indeed  at  any  moment,  when 
the  ice  and  snow  of  that  dreadful  winter  of  1917-18 
melted,  as  though  Italy  would  share  the  fate  of  Rumania. 
Though  the  British  army  had  had  a  grand  success  with 
their  Tanks,  they  had,  ere  1917  ended,  lost  nearly  all 
the  ground  gained  round  CamlDrai.  Besides,  the  sub- 
marine menace  was  imperilling  the  British  food  supplies 
and  connections  with  America.  As  to  the  United  States : 
was  their  intervention  going  to  be  more  than  money  loans 
and  supplies  of  material?  Would  they  really  supply 
the  fighting  men,  the  one  thing  at  this  crisis  necessary  to 
defeat  Germany? 

Belgium  had  been  divided  administratively  into  two 
distinct  portions,  north  and  south  of  the  Meuse.  North 
of  the  Meuse  she  was  to  be  a  Dutch-speaking  country 
either  part  of  Germany  eventually,  or  given  to  Holland 
to  compensate  her  for  her  very  benevolent  neutrality 
towards  Germany  during  the  War.  A  handful  of  Flem- 
ish adventurers  appeared  at  Brussels  to  form  the  Council 
of  Flanders,  and  sickened  the  Bruxellois  by  their  lavish 

375 


376  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

praise  of  the  German  administration  and  servile  con- 
currence with  all  German  measures. 

The  events  of  the  spring  of  191 8  accentuated  the  despair 
in  the  Belgian  capital.  When  the  Germans  broke  through 
the  defences  of  the  new  lines  which  ran  through  Picardy 
and  Champagne,  reached  the  vicinity  of  Amiens,  retook 
Soissons,  and  recrossed  the  Marne,  it  seemed  as  though 
Belgian  independence  had  been  lost ;  the  utmost  she  could 
hope  for  would  be  the  self-government  of  a  German 
province. 

But  Vivie  was  not  among  the  pessimists.  She  dis- 
cerned a  smouldering  discontent  among  the  German  sol- 
diers, even  when  Germany  seemed  near  to  a  sweeping 
victory  over  France  and  Britain. 

The  brutality  of  the  soldiers,  their  deliberate,  nasty 
dirtiness  during  the  first  two  years  of  the  War  seemed 
due  rather  to  their  officers'  orders  than  to  an  anti-human 
disposition  of  their  own.  Many  of  the  soldiers  in  Bel- 
gium, in  Brussels,  turned  round — so  to  speak — and  con- 
ceived a  horror  of  what  they  had  done,  of  what  they 
had  been  told  to  do.  Men  who  on  the  instigation  of  their 
officers  —  and  these  last,  especially  the  Prussians,  seemed 
fiends  incarnate  — -  had  offered  violence  to  young  Belgian 
women,  ended  by  offering  to  marry  them,  even  showed 
themselves  kind  husbands,  only  too  willing  to  become 
domesticated,  groaning  at  having  to  leave  their  temporary 
homes  and  return  to  the  terrible  fighting  on  the  Yser  or 
in  France. 

There  were,  for  example,  the  soldiers  stationed  at  the 
Villa  Beau-sejour  and  at  the  Oudekens'  farm.  Vivie  had 
a  growing  desire  to  find  out  what  had  happened  to  her 
mother's  property.  One  day,  late  in  February,  19 18, 
when  there  was  a  premature  breath  and  feeling  of  Spring 
in  the  air,  she  called  on  her  friend  —  as  he  had  become  — 
the  Directeur  of  the  Prison  of  Saint-Gilles,  and  asked 
him  —  since  she  herself  could  not  deign  to  ask  any  favour 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  377 

or  concession  of  the  German  authorities  —  to  obtain  for 
her  a  permit  to  proceed  to  Tervxieren,  the  railway  service 
between  Brussels  and  that  place  having  been  reopened. 
She  walked  over  —  with  what  reminiscences  the  roads  and 
paths  were  filled  —  to  the  Villa,  and  showing  her  pass  was 
received,  not  uncivilly,  by  the  sergeant-major  in  charge. 
Fortunately  the  officers  had  all  gone,  voting  it  very  dull, 
with  Brussels  so  near  and  yet  so  far.  After  their  de- 
parture the  sergeant-major  and  his  reduced  guard  of  men 
had  begun  to  make  the  place  more  homelike.  The  usual 
German  thrift  had  shown  itself.  They  had  reassembled 
the  remains  of  Mrs.  Warren's  herd  of  cows.  These  had 
calves  and  were  giving  milk.  There  were  once  more  the 
beginnings  of  a  poultry  yard.  The  rooms  had  been 
cleaned  at  any  rate  of  their  unspeakable  filth,  though  the 
dilapidations  and  the  ruined  furniture  made  tears  of  vex- 
ation stand  in  Vivie's  eyes.  However  she  kept  her  temper 
and  told  the  sergeant  that  it  was  her  property  now ;  that 
she  intended  to  reclaim  it  at  the  end  of  the  War,  and 
that  if  he  saw  to  it  that  the  place  was  handed  back  to 
her  with  no  further  damage,  she  w^ould  take  care  that 
he  was  duly  rewarded;  and  as  an  instalment  she  gave 
him  a  good  tip.  He  replied  with  a  laugh  and  a  shrug 
"That  may  well  come  about."  ("  Das  konnte  wohl 
geschehen.") 

He  had  already  heard  of  the  Englanderin  whom  the 
Kommandantur  was  afraid  to  touch,  and  opened  his  heart 
to  her;  even  offering  to  prepare  her  a  little  meal  in  her 
own  salle  a  manger.  With  what  strange  sensations  she 
sat  down  to  it.  The  sergeant  as  he  brought  in  the  ceufs 
au  plat  said  the  soldiers  were  already  sick  of  the  War. 
Most  wanted  to  go  back  to  Germany,  but  a  few  were  so 
much  in  love  with  Belgium  that  they  hoped  they  might  be 
allowed  to  settle  down  there ;  especially  those  who  spoke 
Platt-deutsch,  to  whom  Flemish  came  so  easy. 

From  Villa  Beau-sejour,  Vivien  Warren  passed  on  to 


378  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

the  Oudekens'  farm,  wondering  what  she  would  see  — 
Some  fresh  horror?  But  on  the  contrary,  Mme.  Oude- 
kens looked  years  younger;  indeed  when  Vivien  first 
stood  outside  the  house  door,  she  had  heard  really  hearty 
laughter  coming  from  the  orchard  where  the  farmer's 
widow  was  pinning  up  clothes  to  dry.  Yet  it  was  here 
that  the  woman's  husband  had  been  shot  and  buried,  as 
the  result  of  a  field-court's  sentence. 

But  when  she  answered  Vivien's  questions,  after  plying 
her  with  innumerable  enquiries,  she  admitted  with  a  blush 
that  Heinrich,  the  German  sergeant,  with  whom  she  had 
first  cohabited  by  constraint,  had  recently  married  her  at 
the  Mairie,  though  the  Cure  had  refused  to  perform  the 
religious  service.  Heinrich  was  now  invariably  kind  and 
worked  hard  on  the  farm.  He  hoped  by  diligently  sup- 
plying the  officers'  messes  in  Brussels  with  poultry  and 
vegetables  that  he  and  his  assistants  —  two  corporals  — 
might  be  overlooked  and  not  sent  back  into  the  fighting 
ranks.  As  to  her  daughters,  after  a  few  months  of  pro- 
miscuity —  a  terrible  time  that  Mme.  Oudekens  wanted 
to  forget  —  they  had  been  assigned  to  the  two  corporals 
as  their  exclusive  property.  They  were  both  of  them 
about  to  become  mothers,  and  if  no  one  interfered,  as  soon 
as  this  accursed  War  was  over  their  men  would  marry 
them.  "  But,"  said  Vivie,  "  suppose  }'our  husband  and 
these  corporals  are  married  already,  in  Germany  ? " 
"  Qu'est-ce-que  ga  fait?"  said  Mme.  Oudekens.  "  C'est 
si  loin."  By  making  these  little  concessions  she  had  al- 
ready saved  her  youngest  son  from  deportation  to  Ger- 
many. 

The  enormous  demands  for  food  in  Brussels,  which 
in  19 1 8  had  a  floating  population  of  over  a  million  and 
where  the  Germans  were  turning  large  dogs  into  pem- 
mican,  had  tripled  the  value  of  all  productive  farms  so 
near  the  capital  as  those  round  Tervueren,  especially 
now   the  railway  service   was  reopened.     Many  of  the 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  379 

peasants  were  making  huge  fortunes  in  complicity  with 
some  German  soldier-partner. 

In  Brussels  itself,  soldiers  often  sided  with  the  people 
against  the  odious  "  polizei,"  the  intolerable  German  spies 
and  police  agents.  Conflicts  would  sometimes  occur  in 
the  trams  and  the  streets  when  the  German  police  en- 
deavoured to  arrest  citizens  for  reading  the  Times  or  La 
Libre  Belgique,  or  for  saying  disrespectful  things  about 
the  Emperor. 

The  tremendous  rush  of  the  German  offensive  onward 
to  the  Mame,  Somme,  and  Ypres  salient  in  March- 
June,  1918,  was  received  by  the  shifting  garrison  of  Brus- 
sels with  little  enthusiasm.  Would  it  not  tend  to  prolong 
the  War?  The  German  advance  into  France  was  spec- 
tacular, but  it  was  paid  for  by  an  appalling  death-roll. 
The  hospitals  at  Brussels  were  filled  to  overflowing  with 
wounded  and  dying  men.  The  Austrians  who  were 
brought  from  the  Italian  front  to  replenish  the  depleted 
battalions,  quarrelled  openly  with  the  Prussians,  and  in 
some  cases  had  to  be  surrounded  in  a  barrack  square  and 
shot  down. 

The  first  real  check  to  the  German  Army  in  its  second 
march  on  Paris  —  that  which  followed  its  crossing  of  the 
Marne  near  Dormans  —  was  prophetically  greeted  by  the 
Bruxellois  as  the  turning  of  the  tide.  The  Em- 
peror had  gone  thither  from  the  Hotel  Imperial  in  order 
to  witness  and  follow  the  culminating  march  on  Paris. 
But  Foch  now  struck  with  his  reserves,  and  the  head  of 
the  tortoise  was  nipped  off.  The  driving  back  of  the 
Germans  over  the  Marne  coincided  with  the  Belgian 
National  Fete  of  July  21.  Not  since  19 14  had  this  fete 
been  openly  observed.  But  on  this  day  in  19 18,  the  Ger- 
man police  made  no. protest  when  a  huge  crowd  celebrated 
the  fete  day  in  every  church  and  every  street.  Vivien 
herself,  smiling  and  laughing  as  she  had  not  done  since 
Bertie's  death,  attended  the  service  in  Sainte-Gudule  and 


38o  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

joined  in  singing  La  Brahangonne  in  place  of  Te  Deum, 
laudamtis.  In  the  streets  and  houses  of  Brussels  every 
piano,  every  gramophone  was  enrolled  to  play  the 
Marseillaise,  Vers  I'Avenir,  and  La  Brahanconne,  the  Bel- 
gian national  anthem  (uninspiring  words  and  dreary 
tune).  From  this  date  onwards  —  July  21 — the  Ger- 
man debacle  proceeded,  with  scarcely  one  day's  intermis- 
sion, with  never  a  German  regain  of  lost  ground. 

When  the  Americans  had  retaken  St.  Mihiel  on  Sep- 
tember 14,  then  did  Belgians  boldly  predict  that  their  King 
would  be  back  in  Brussels  by  Christmas.  But  their 
prophecies  were  outstripped  by  events.  Already,  in  the 
beginning  of  October,  the  accredited  German  Press  in 
Belgium  was  adjuring  the  Belgians  not  to  be  impatient, 
but  to  let  them  evacuate  Belgium  quietly.  At  the  end 
of  October,  Minna  von  Stachelberg  told  Vivien  that  she 
and  the  other  units  of  the  German  Red  Cross  had  re- 
ceived instructions  to  leave  and  hand  over  their  charges 
to  the  Belgian  doctors  and  nurses.  The  two  women  took 
an  affectionate  farewell  of  each  other,  vowing  they  would 
meet  again  —  somewhere  —  when  the  War  was  over. 
British  wounded  now  began  to  cease  coming  into  Brus- 
sels, so  Vivie  was  free  to  attend  to  her  own  affairs. 

Enormous  quantities  of  German  plunder  were  stream- 
ing out  of  Belgium  by  train,  by  motor,  in  military  lorries, 
in  carts  and  waggons.  Nearly  all  this  belonged  to  the 
officers,  and  the  already-rebellious  soldiers  broke  out  in 
protestations.  "  Why  should  they  who  had  done  all  the 
fighting  have  none  of  the  loot?"  So  they  won  over  the 
Belgian  engine-drivers  —  delighted  to  see  this  quarrel  be- 
tween the  hyenas  —  and  held  up  the  trains  in  the  subur- 
ban stations  north  of  Brussels.  There  were  pitched  bat- 
tles which  ended  always  in  the  soldiers'  victory. 

The  soldiers  then  would  hold  auctions  and  markets  of 
the  plunder  captured  in  the  trains  and  lorries.  They  were 
in  a  hurry  to  get  a  little  money  to  take  back  with  them  to 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  381 

Germany.  Vivie,  who  had  laid  her  plans  now  as  to  what 
to  do  after  the  German  evacuation  of  Brussels,  attended 
these  auctions.  She  was  nearly  always  civilly  treated,  be- 
cause so  many  German  soldiers  had  known  her  as  a  friend 
in  hospital  and  told  other  soldiers.  At  one  such  sale  she 
bought  a  serviceable  motor-car  for  750  francs;  at  an- 
other drums  of  petrol. 

She  had  provided  herself  with  funds  by  going  to  her 
mother's  bank  and  reopening  the  question  of  the  deposited 
jewels  and  plate.  Now  that  the  victory  of  the  Allies 
seemed  certain,  the  bank  manager  was  more  inclined  to 
make  things  easy  for  her.  He  had  the  jewels  and  plate 
valued  —  roughly  —  at  £3,000;  and  although  he  would 
not  surrender  them  till  the  will  could  be  proved  and  she 
could  show  letters  of  administration,  he  consented  on  be- 
half of  the  bank  to  make  her  a  loan  of  30,000  francs. 

On  November  loth,  a  German  soldier  who  followed 
Vivien  about  with  humble  fidelity  since  she  had  cured 
him  of  a  bad  whitlow  —  and  also  because,  as  he  said,  it 
was  a  joy  to  speak  English  once  more  —  for  he  had  been 
a  waiter  at  the  Savoy  Hotel  —  came  to  her  in  the  Boule- 
vard d'Anspach  and  said  "  The  Red  flag,  lady,  he  fly  from 
Kommandantur,  With  us  I  think  it  is  Kaput."  This 
was  what  Vivien  had  been  waiting  for.  Asking  the  man 
to  follow  her,  she  first  stopped  outside  a  shop  of  military 
equipment,  and  after  a  brief  inspection  of  its  goods  en- 
tered and  purchased  a  short,  not  too  flexible  riding-whip, 
with  a  heavy  handle.  Then  as  the  trams  were  densely 
crowded,  she  walked  at  a  rapid  pace  —  glancing  round 
ever  and  again  to  see  that  her  German  soldier  was  follow- 
ing —  up  the  Boulevard  du  Jardin  Botanique  and  along 
the  Rue  Royale  until  she  came  to  the  Hotel  Imperial. 
Here  she  halted  for  a  minute  to  have  the  soldier  close 
behind  her ;  then  gave  the  revolving  door  a  turn  and  found 
herself  and  him  in  the  marble  hall  once  built  for  Mrs. 
Warren's  florid  taste.     "  Call  the  Manager,"  she  said  — 


382  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

trying  not  to  pant  —  to  two  Belgian  servants  who  came 
up,  a  porter  and  a  lift  man.  The  Manager  —  he  who  had 
ejected  her  and  her  mother  in  191 5  —  was  fortunately  a 
little  while  in  appearing.  He  was  really  packing  up  with 
energy  so  as  to  depart  with  all  the  plunder  he  could  trans- 
port before  the  way  of  escape  was  closed.  This  little  de- 
lay enabled  Vivien  to  get  her  breath  and  resume  an  im- 
pressive calm. 

"  Well:  what  you  want?  "  the  Manager  said  insolently, 
recollecting  her. 

"  This  first,"  she  said,  seizing  him  suddenly  by  his  coat 
collar. 

"  I  want  —  to  —  give  —  you  —  the  —  soundest  — 
thrashing  you  have  ever  had.  .  .  ." 

And  before  he  could  ofifer  any  effective  resistance  she 
had  lashed  him  well  with  the  riding  cravache  about  the 
shoulders,  hands,  back  and  face.  He  wrenched  himself 
free  and  crouched  ready  for  a  counter  attack.  But  the 
Belgian  servants  intervened  and  tripped  him  up ;  and  the 
German  soldier  —  the  ex-waiter  from  the  Savoy  —  said 
that  Madame  was  by  nature  so  kind  that  there  must  be 
some  good  reason  for  this  chastisement. 

"  There  is,"  she  replied,  now  she  had  got  her  breath 
and  was  inwardly  feeling  ashamed  at  her  resort  to  such 
violent  methods. 

"  Three  years  ago,  this  creature  turned  my  mother 
and  myself  out  of  this  hotel  with  such  violence  that  my 
mother  died  of  it  a  few  minutes  afterwards.  He  stole 
our  money  and  much  of  our  property.  I  have  inherited 
from  my  mother,  to  whom  this  hotel  once  belonged,  a 
right  over  certain  rooms  which  she  used  to  occupy.  I 
resume  that  right  from  to-day.  I  shall  go  to  them  now. 
As  to  this  wretch,  throw  him  out  on  to  the  pavement. 
He  can  afterwards  send  for  his  luggage,  and  what  really 
is  his  he  shall  have." 

Her  orders  were  executed. 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  383 

She  then  sent  a  message  to  Mme.  Walcker  and  to  the 
kind  tea-shop  woman,  Mme.  Trouessart,  close  by,  explain- 
ing what  she  had  done  and  why.  "  I  shall  take  control 
of  this  hotel  in  the  name  of  the  Belgian  Company  that 
owns  it,  a  Company  in  which,  through  my  mother,  I  pos- 
sess shares.  I  shall  stay  here  till  responsible  persons  take 
it  over  and  I  shall  resume  possession  of  the  appartement 
that  belonged  to  my  mother."  Meantime,  would  Madame 
Trouessart  engage  a  few  stout  wenches  to  eke  out  the 
scanty  hotel  staff,  most  of  which  being  German  had  al- 
ready commenced  its  flight  back  to  the  fatherland  with 
all  the  plunder  it  could  carry  off.  The  soldier-ex-hotel- 
waiter  was  provisionally  engaged  to  remain,  as  long  as 
the  Belgian  Government  allowed  him,  and  three  stalwart 
British  soldiers,  until  the  day  before  prisoners-of-war, 
were  enlisted  in  her  service  and  armed  with  revolvers  to 
repel  any  ordinary  act  of  brigandage. 

By  the  end  of  November  she  had  the  Hotel  :£douard- 
Sept  —  with  the  old  name  restored  —  running  smoothly 
and  ready  for  the  new  guests  —  British,  French  officers 
and  civilians  who  would  follow  the  King  of  the  Belgians 
on  his  return  to  his  capital.  The  re-established  Belgian 
authorities  soon  put  her  into  possession  of  the  Villa 
Beau-sejour.  The  German  sergeant-major  here  had  kept 
faith  with  her,  and  in  return  for  handing  over  everything 
intact,  including  the  herd  of  cows,  received  a  douceur 
which  amply  rewarded  him  for  this  belated  honesty  be- 
fore he,  too,  set  his  face  towards  Germany  with  the  rest 
of  the  evacuating  army.  The  motor-car  she  had  bought 
enabled  her  to  fetch  supplies  of  food  from  farm  to  hotel 
and  to  perform  many  little  services  to  Belgians  who  were 
returning  to  their  old  homes.  Madame  Trouessart,  not 
as  yet  having  any  stock  of  tea  with  which  to  reopen  her 
tea-shop  to  the  first  incoming  of  curious  tourists,  agreed 
to  live  with  Miss  Warren  at  the  hotel  and  act  as  her 
deputy,  if  affairs  took  her  away  from  Brussels. 


384  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

It  was  at  the  Hotel  £douard-Sept,  the  place  where 
she  had  been  born,  that  Rossiter  met  her  when  he  ar- 
rived in  Brussels  after  the  Armistice,  She  felt  a  little 
tremulous  when  his  card  was  sent  up  to  her,  and  kept 
him  waiting  quite  five  minutes  while  she  saw  that  her  hair 
was  tidy  and  estimated  before  the  glass  the  extent  to 
which  it  had  gone  grey.  She  had  let  it  grow  of  late 
years  —  the  days  of  David  Williams  and  Mr.  Michaelis 
seemed  very  remote  —  and  spent  some  time  and  consid- 
eration in  arranging  it.  Her  costume  was  workmanlike 
and  that  of  an  hotel  manageress  in  the  morning;  yet  dis- 
tinctly set  off  her  figure  and  suited  her  character  of  an 
able-bodied,  intellectual  woman. 

*  *  *  * 

"Vivie!" 

"  Michael !  " 

"  My  dear!     You're  handsomer  than  ever !  " 

"  Michael !  Your  khaki  uniform  becomes  you ;  and  I'm 
so  glad  you've  got  rid  of  that  beard.  Noiv  we.  can  see 
your  well-shaped  chin.  But  still :  we  mustn't  stand  here, 
paying  one  another  compliments,  though  this  meeting  is 
too  wonderful :  I  never  thought  I  should  see  you  again. 
Let's  come  to  realities.  I  suppose  the  real  heart-felt  ques- 
tion at  the  back  of  your  mind  is :  can  I  let  you  have  a 
room?  I  can,  but  not  a  bath-room  suite;  they're  all 
taken.  ..." 

Michael:  "  Nonsense!  I'm  going  to  be  put  up  at  the 
Palace  Hotel.  Jenkins  —  you  remember  the  butler  of  old 
time?  —  Jenkins,  and  my  batman,  a  refined  brigand,  a 
polished  robber,  have  already  been  there  and  com- 
mandeered something.   .  .  . 

*'  No.  I  came  here,  firstly  to  find  out  if  you  were 
living;  secondly  to  ask  you  to  marry  me"  .  .  (a 
pause)  .  .  "  and  thirdly  to  find  out  what  happened  to 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  385 

Bertie  Adams.  A  message  came  through  the  Spanish 
Legation  here,  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  to  the  effect  that  he 
had  died  at  Brussels  from  the  consequences  of  the  War. 
However,  unless  you  can  tell  me  at  once  this  is  all  a 
mistake,  we  can  go  into  his  affairs  later.  My  first  ques- 
tion is  —  Oh!  Bother  all  this  cackle,  .  .  .  Will  you 
marry  me?  " 

Vivie:  "  Dear,  brave  Bertie,  whom  I  shall  everlast- 
ingly mourn,  was  shot  here  in  Brussels  by  the  abominable 
Germans,  as  a  spy,  on  April  8th,  19 17.  He  was  of 
course  no  more  a  spy  than  you  are  or  I  am.  The  poor 
devoted  fool  —  I  rage  still,  because  I  shall  never  be  worth 
such  folly,  such  selfless  devotion  —  got  into  Belgium 
with  false  passports  —  American :  in  the  hope  of  rescuing 
me.  He  came  and  enquired  here  —  my  last  address  in 
his  remembrance  —  and  came  by  sheer  bad  luck  just  as 
the  Kaiser  was  about  to  arrive.  They  jumped  to  the  con- 
clusion that " 

Rossifer:  "  Aiv fully,  cruelly  sad.  But  you  can  give 
me  the  details  of  it  later  on.  You  must  have  a  long,  long 
story  of  your  own  to  tell  which  ought  to  be  of  poignant 
interest.  But  .  .  .  will  you  marry  me?  I  suppose  you 
know  dear  Linda  died  —  was  killed  by  a  bomb  in  a  Ger- 
man air-raid  last  year  —  October,  191 7.  I  really  felt 
heart-broken  about  it,  but  I  know  now  I  am  only  doing 
what  she  would  have  wished.  She  came  at  last  to  talk 
about  you  quite  differently,  quite  understandingly " 

Vivie:  "  That's  what  all  widowers  say.  They  always 
declare  the  dead  wife  begged  them  to  marry  again,  and 
even  designated  her  successor.  Poor  Linda!  Yes,  I 
read  an  account  of  it  in  a  copy  of  the  Times;  but  I 
couldn't  of  course  communicate  with  you  to  say  how 
truly,  truly  sorry  I  was,  I  am  glad  to  know  she  spoke 
nicely  of  me.  Did  she  really?  Or  have  you  only  made 
it  up 


,?" 


386  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Michael:  "  Of  course  I  haven't.  She  really  did.  Do 
you  know,  she  and  I  quite  altered  after  the  War  began? 
She  lost  all  her  old  silliness  and  inefficiency  —  or  at  any 
rate  only  retained  enough  of  the  old  childishness  to  make 
her  endearing.  And  I  really  grew  to  love  her.  I  quite 
forgot  you.     Yes  :     I  admit  it.  .  .  . 

"  But  somehow,  after  she  was  dead  the  old  feeling  for 
you  came  back  .  .  .  and  without  any  disloyalty  to  Linda. 
I  felt  in  a  way  —  I  know  it  is  an  absurd  thing  for  a  man 
of  science  to  say,  for  we  have  still  no  proof  —  I  felt  some- 
how as  though  she  lived  still.  That's  why  I  don't  want  to 
get  rid  of  the  Park  Crescent  house.  Her  presence  seems 
to  linger  there.  But  I  also  knew  —  instinctively  —  that 
she  would  like  us  to  come  together.  .  .  .  She  .  .  ." 

Waiter  (knocking  at  door  and  slightly  opening  it)  : 
"  Madame !  Le  General  Tompkins  veut  vous  voir.  II 
ajoute  qu'il  n'est  pas  habitue  a  attendre.  II  y  a  aussi 
M'sieur  fimile  Vandervelde,  qui  arrive  instamment  et  qui 
n'a  pas  d'installation.  .  .  ." 

Rnssiter:  "Damn!  Let  me  go  and  settle  with  'em. 
Tompkins !     I  never  heard  such  cheek " 

Vivien:  "  Not  at  all.  You  forget  I  am  Manageress." 
(To  Waiter)  *'  Entrez  done!  Dites  au  General  que  je 
serai  a  sa  disposition  dans  trois  minutes;  et  montrez- 
lui  ce  que  nous  avons  en  fait  de  chambres.  Tous  les 
appartements  avec  bain  sont  pris.  Casez  M'sieur  Van- 
dervelde quelque  part.  Du  reste,  je  descendrai." 
.  .  .  .  (Waiter  goes  out)  .  .  .  "  Michael!  It  is  impos- 
sible to  have  a  sentimental  conversation  here,  and  at  this 
hour  —  Eleven  o'clock  on  a  busy  morning.  If  you  want 
an  answer  to  your  second  question,  now  you've  seen  me, 
meet  me  outside  the  Palm  House  of  the  Jardin  Botanique, 
at  3  p.m.  I'll  get  ofif  somehow  for  an  hour  just  then. 
Don't  forget !  It's  close  by  here  —  along  the  Rue  Royale. 
Be  absolutely  punctual,  or  else  I  shall  think  that  having 
seen  me,  seen  how  changed  I  am,  you  have  altered  your 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  387 

mind.  I  shall  quite  understand ;  only  I  may  come  back 
at  five  minutes  past  three  and  accept  General  Tompkins. 
Acquaintances  ripen  quickly  in  Brussels." 


In  the  Palm  House  —  or  rather  one  of  its  many  com- 
partments; 3.5  p.m.,  on  a  beautiful  afternoon  in  early 
December.  The  sun  is  sinking  over  outspread  Brussels 
in  a  pink  and  yellow  haze  radiating  from  the  good- 
humoured-looking,  orange  orb.  There  are  no  other 
visitors  to  the  Palm  House,  at  any  rate  not  to  this  com- 
partment, except  the  superintending  gardener  —  the  same 
that  cheered  the  last  hours  of  Mrs.  Warren.  He  recog- 
nizes Vivien  and  salutes  her  gravely.  Seeing  that  she  is 
accompanied  by  a  gentleman  in  khaki  he  discreetly  with- 
draws out  of  hearing  and  tidies  up  a  tree  fern.  Vivien 
and  Michael  seat  themselves  on  two  green  iron  chairs 
under  the  fronds  and  in  front  of  grey  stems. 

Vizfie:  "  This  is  a  favourite  place  of  mine  for  assigna- 
tions. I  can't  think  why  it  is  so  little  appreciated  by 
young  Brussels.  These  palm  houses  are  much  more  beau- 
tiful than  anything  at  Kew ;  they  are  in  the  heart  of  Brus- 
sels, over  which,  as  you  see,  you  have  a  wonderful  view. 
It  was  much  more  frequented  when  the  Germans  were 
here.  With  all  their  brutality  they  did  not  injure  this 
unequalled  collection  of  Tropical  plants.  They  made  the 
Palm  House  an  allowance  of  coal  and  coke  in  winter  while 
we  poor  human  beings  went  without.  I  used  often  to 
come  in  here  on  a  winter's  day  to  get  warm  and  to  forget 
my  sorrows.  .  .  . 

"  Look  at  that  superb  Raphia  —  zvhat  fronds !  And 
that  Phoenix  spinosa  —  and  that  Aralia " 

Rossiter:  "  Bother  the  Aralia.  I  haven't  come  here 
for  a  Botany  lesson.  Besides,  it  isn't  an  xA.ralia; 
it's  a  Gomphocarpus.  .  .  .  Vivie!  IVill  you  marry 
mei 


.?  " 


388  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Vivie:  *' My  dear  Michael:  I  was  forty-three  last 
October." 

Michael:  "  I  was  fifty-three  last  November,  the  day 
the  Armistice  was  signed.  But  I  feel  more  like  thirty- 
three.     Life  in  camp  has   quite   rejuvenated  me.  .  .  ." 

Vivie  (continuing)  :  .  .  .  "  And  my  hair  is  cinder 
grey  —  an  unfortunate  transition  colour.  And  if  the 
gardener  were  not  looking  I  should  say :  '  Feel  my  el- 
bows .  .  .  Dreadfully  bony!  And  my  face  has  become. 
.  .  ."  She  turns  her  face  towards  him.  He  sees  tears 
trembling  on  the  lower  lashes  of  her  grey  eyes,  but  some- 
thing has  come  into  the  features,  some  irradiation  of 
love  —  is  it  the  light  of  the  sunset? — which  imparts  a 
tender  youthfulness  to  the  curvature  of  cheek,  lips  and 
chin.  Her  face,  indeed,  might  be  of  any  age :  it  held  the 
undying  beauty  of  a  goddess,  in  whom  knowledge  has 
sweetened  to  tenderness  and  divinity  has  dissolved  in  a 
need  for  compassion;  and  the  youthful  assurance  of  a 
happy  woman  whose  wish  at  last  is  won.  .  .  . 

For  a  minute  she  looks  at  him  without  finishing  her 
sentence.  Then  she  sits  up  straighter  and  says  explicitly : 
"  Yes,  I  will." 


The  gardener  managed  an  occasional  peep  at  them, 
sitting  hand  in  hand.  He  wished  the  idyll  to  last  as  long 
as  the  clear  daylight,  but  the  hour  for  closing  was  four 
o'clock  — "  II  n'y  avait  pas  a  nier."  Either  they  were 
husband  and  wife,  reunited,  after  years  of  war-severance ; 
or  they  were  mature  lovers,  and  probably  of  the  most  re- 
spectable. In  either  case,  the  necessary  hint  that  ecstasies 
must  transfer  themselves  at  sunset  from  the  glass  houses 
of  the  Jardin  Botanique  to  the  outer  air  was  best  conveyed 
on  this  occasion  by  a  discreet  gift  of  flowers.  Accord- 
ingly he  went  on  to  where  exotic  lilies  were  blooming, 
picked  a  few  blossoms,  returned,  came  with  soft  padding 


AFTER  THE  ARMISTICE  389 

steps  up  to  Vivie,  offered  them  with  a  bow  and  "  Mes 
feHcitations  sinceres,  Madame."  Vivie  laughed  and  took 
the  Hhes;  Rossiter  of  course  gave  him  a  ten-franc  note. 
And  they  sauntered  slowly  back  to  the  hotel. 


L'ENVOI 

I  AM  reproached  by  such  Art  Critics  as  deign  to'  notice 
my  pictures  with  "  finishing  my  foregrounds  over 
much," —  fining  them  with  superabundant  detail,  making 
the  primroses  more  important  than  the  snow-peaks.  And 
by  my  pubhshers  with  forgetting  the  price  of  paper  and 
the  cost  of  printing.  My  jury  of  matrons  thinks  I  don't 
know  where  to  leave  off  and  that  I  might  very  well  close 
this  book  on  the  answer  that  Mrs.  Warren's  daughter  gave 
to  Sir  Michael  Rossiter's  proposal  of  marriage  in  the 
Palm  House  at  Brussels.  "  The  reader,"  they  say,  "  can 
very  well  fill  in  the  rest  of  the  story  for  himself  or  her- 
self. It  is  hardly  likely  that  Vivie  will  cry  off  at  the 
last  moment,  or  Michael  reconsider  the  plunge  into  a 
second  marriage.  Why  therefore  waste  print  and  paper 
and  our  eyesight  in  describing  the  marriage  ceremony, 
the  inevitable  visit  to  Honoria,  and  what  Vivie  did  with 
the  property  she  inherited  from  her  mother?" 

No  doubt  they  are  all  right.  Yet  I  am  distrustful  of 
my  readers'  judgment  and  imagination.  I  feel  both 
want  guiding,  and  I  doubt  their  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  goodness  of  heart  being  equal  to  mine,  except  in  rare 
cases. 

So  I  throw  out  these  indications  to  influence  the 
sequels  they  may  plan  to  this  story. 

I  think  that  Michael  and  Vivie  were  married  at  the 
British  Legation  in  Brussels  between  Christmas  and  the 
New  Year  of  1918-1919;  before  that  Legation  was 
erected  into  an  Embassy;  and  that  the  marriage  officer 
was  kind,  genial  Mr.  Hawk  when  he  returned  to  Brus- 

390 


L'ENVOI  391 

sels  from  Tlie  Hague  and  proceeded  to  get  the  Legation 
into  working  order.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Hawk  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  the  thing  and  gave  an  informal  breakfast 
afterwards  in  the  Rue  de  Spa  to  which  Mons.  and  Mme. 
Walcker,  Mons,  and  Mme.  Trouessart,  and  the  Direc- 
teur  of  the  prison  of  Saint-Gilles  and  his  wife  were  in- 
vited. I  think  the  head  gardener  of  the  Jardin  Botanique 
who  had  charge  of  the  Tropical  houses  cribbed  from  the 
collections  some  of  the  most  magnificent  blooms,  and  pre- 
sented them  to  Vivie  on  the  morning  of  her  marriage; 
and  that  afterwards  she  laid  the  bouquet  on  her  mother's 
newly  finished  tomb  in  the  cemetery  of  St.  Josse-ten- 
Noode,  where,  the  weather  being  singularly  mild  for  the 
time  of  year,  the  flowers  lasted  fresh  and  blooming  for 
several  days. 

I  am  sure  she  and  Michael  then  crossed  the  road  and 
passed  on  to  the  building  of  the  Tir  National;  entered 
it  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  verandah  from  which 
Vivie  had  seen  Bertie  Adams  executed;  and  passed  on 
over  the  tussocky  grass  to  the  graves  of  Bertie  Adams 
and  Edith  Cavell,  where  they  did  silent  homage  to  the 
dead.  I  believe  a  few  days  afterwards  they  visited  the 
Senate  where  the  victims  of  von  Bissing's  "  Terror  "  had 
been  tried,  browbeaten,  insulted,  mocked.  And  the  func- 
tionary who  showed  them  over  this  superb  national  palace 
is  certain  to  have  included  in  his  exposition  the  once 
splendid  carpets  which  the  German  officers  prior  to  their 
evacuation  of  the  Senate  —  all  but  the  legislative  cham- 
ber of  which  was  used  as  a  barracks  for  rough  soldiery 
—  had  sprayed  and  barred,  streaked  and  splodged  with 
printing  ink.  He  would  also  have  pointed  out  the  three- 
hundred-year-old  tapestries  they  had  ripped  from  the 
walls  and  the  historical  portraits  they  had  slashed,  and 
would  again  have  emphasized  the  fact  that  in  all  these 
senseless  devastations  the  officers  were  far  worse  than 
the  men. 


392  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Also  I  am  certain  that  Michael  and  Vivie  made  a  pil- 
grimage to  the  prison  of  Saint-Gilles,  and  stood  silently 
in  the  cell  where  Bertie  Adams  and  Vivie  had  spent  those 
terrible  days  of  suspense  and  despair  between  April  6  and 
April  8,  191 7;  and  that  when  they  entered  that  other  com- 
partment of  the  prison  where  Edith  Cavell  had  passed  her 
last  days  before  her  execution,  they  listened  with  sym- 
pathetic reverence  to  the  recital  by  the  Directeur  of 
verses  from  "  rH}TTine  d'Edith  Cavell  " —  as  it  is  now 
called  —  no  other  than  the  sad  old  poem  of  human  sor- 
row, Abide  with  me;  and  that  they  appreciated  to  the 
full  the  warmth  of  Belgian  feeling  which  has  turned  the 
cell  of  Edith  Cavell  into  a  Chapelle  Ardente  in  perpe- 
tuity, 

I  think  they  returned  to  England  in  January,  19 19, 
so  that  Michael  might  get  back  quickly  to  his  work  of 
mending  the  maimed,  now  transferred  to  English  hos- 
pitals ;  and  so  that  Vivie  —  always  a  practical  woman  — 
should  prove  her  mother'^s  will,  secure  her  heritage  and 
have  it  in  hand  as  a  fund  from  which  to  promote  all  the 
happiness  she  could.  I  doubt  whether  she  will  give  much 
of  it  to  "  causes  "  rather  than  cases  and  to  politics  in 
preference  to  persons.  I  think  she  was  awfully  disgusted 
when  she  was  back  in  the  England  of  to-day  not  to  find 
Mrs.  Fawcett  Prime  Ministress  and  First  Lady  of  the 
Treasury,  Annie  Kenney  at  the  Board  of  Trade  and 
Christabel  Pankhurst  running  the  Ministry  of  Health. 
It  was  disheartening  after  the  long  struggle  for  the 
Woman's  Vote  and  the  equality  of  the  sexes  in  oppor- 
tunity to  find  the  same  old  men-muddlers  in  charge  of 
all  public  afifairs  and  departments  of  state,  and  the  only 
woman  on  the  benches  of  the  House  of  Commons  a  mil- 
lionaire peeress  never  before  identified  with  the  struggle 
for  the  Woman's  Cause. 

However  I  think  her  disenchantment  did  not  diminish 
the  rapture  at  finding  herself  once  more  in  the  intimacy 


L'ENVOI  393 

of  Honoria  Armstrong.  Sir  Petworth,  when  he  ran  over 
on  leave  from  the  Army  of  Occupation,  thought  her 
enormously  improved,  though  he  had  the  tact  not  to  say 
so.  He  frankly  made  the  amende  honorable  for  his  sus- 
picions and  churlishness  of  the  past,  and  himself  — 
I  think  —  insisted  on  his  frank  and  friendly  children  call- 
ing her  "  Aunt  Vivie."  I  am  equally  sure  that  Vivie 
was  not  long  in  London  before  she  appeared  at  dear  old 
Praddy's  studio,  beautifully  gowned  and  looking  years 
younger  than  forty-three ;  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  that 
her  presence  once  more  in  his  circle  will  give  his  frame  a 
fillip  so  that  he  may  cheat  Death  over  a  few  more  annual 
outbreaks  of  influenza.  I  am  convinced  that  he  has  left 
all  his  money,  after  providing  a  handsome  annuity  for 
the  parlour-maid,  to  Vivie,  knowing  that  in  her  hands, 
far  more  —  and  far  more  quickly  than  in  those  that  di- 
rect princely  and  public  charities  —  will  his  funds  reach 
the  students  and  the  poverty-stricken  artists  whom  he 
wants  to  benefit. 

I  think  that  after  spending  the  first  five  months  of  1919 
in  London,  getting  No.  i  Park  Crescent  tidy  again  and 
fully  repaired  (because  Michael  wished  to  pursue  more 
thoroughly  than  ever  his  biological  researches),  Vivie 
and  Michael  went  off  to  spend  their  real  honeymoon  in 
the  Occupied  Territory  of  the  Rhineland,  in  that  never- 
to-be  forgotten  June,  memorable  for  its  splendid  sunshine 
and  the  beauty  of  its  flowers  and  foliage.  I  think  they 
did  this  expressly  (under  the  guise  of  a  visit  to  General 
Armstrong),  so  that  Vivie  and  Minna  von  Stachelberg  — 
now  Minna  Schultz  —  might  foregather  at  Bonn.  Minna 
had  married  again,  an  officer  of  no  family  but  of  means 
and  of  fine  physique  whom  she  had  nursed  in  Brussels. 
His  left  arm  had  been  shattered,  but  the  skill  of  the  Bel- 
gian surgeons  and  her  devoted  nursing  had  saved  it  from 
being  amputated.  She  had  wished  however  to  have  him 
examined  by  some  great  exponent  of  curative  surgery  at 


394  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

Bonn  University,  and  the  conjunction  of  the  celebrated 
Sir  Michael  Rossiter  —  who  in  his  discussions  of  anat- 
omy with  the  Bonn  professors  forgot  there  had  ever 
been  a  war  between  Britain  and  Germany  —  was  most 

opportune. 

I  think  however  that  Sir  Michael  said  this  was  all 
humbug  on  Minna's  part,  and  that  all  she  wanted  —  her 
husband,  Major  Schultz,  looking  the  picture  of  health  — 
was  to  meet  once  more  her  well-beloved  Vivie.  At  any 
rate  I  am  sure  they  met  in  the  Rhineland  in  a  pro- 
pitious month  when  you  could  be  out  of  doors  all  day 
and  all  night;  and  that  Minna  said  some  time  or  other 
how  happy  she  was  in  her  second  marriage,  and  that 
however  heartily  she  disliked  militarism  and  con- 
demned War,  soldiers  made  the  nicest  husbands.  I  think 
before  she  and  Vivie  parted  to  go  their  several  ways, 
they  determined  to  work  for  the  building  up  of  an  Anglo- 
German  reconciliation,  and  for  the  advocacy  in  both 
countries  of  a  Man-and-Woman  Government. 

I  think,  nevertheless,  that  Vivie  being  a  sound  busi- 
ness woman  and  possessing  a  strong  sense  of  justice  on 
the  lines  of  an  eye  for  an  eye,  will  claim  at  least  Five 
Thousand  pounds  from  the  German  Government  for  the 
devastations  and  thefts  at  the  Villa  Beau-sejour;  and 
that  having  got  it  and  having  disposed  of  her  mother's 
jewellery  and  plate  for  £3,500,  she  will  present  the  Villa 
Beau-sejour  property  and  an  endowment  of  £8,000  to  the 
Town  of  Brussels,  as  an  educational  orphanage  for  the 
children  of  Belgian  soldiers  who  have  died  in  the  War, 
where  they  may  receive  a  practical  education  in  agricul- 
ture and  poultry  farming. 

I  fancy  she  gave  a  Thousand  pounds  to  Pasteur 
Walcker's  Congo  Mission;  and  transferred  to  Mme. 
Trouessart  all  her  shares  in  and  rights  over  the  Hotel 
£douard-Sept. 

I  also  picture  to  myself  the  Rossiters  having  a  motor 


L'ENVOl  395 

tour  of  pure  pleasure  and  delight  of  the  eyes  in  South 
Wales  in  September,  1919. 

I  imagine  their  going  to  Pontystrad  and  surprising  the 
Vicar  and  Vicaress  and  puzzling  them  by  purposely- 
diffuse  stories  of  Vivie's  cousin  the  late  David  Vavasour 
Williams,  intended  to  convey  the  idea,  without  telling 
unnecessary  fibs,  that  David  died  abroad  during  the  War, 
but  that  Vivie  in  his  memory  and  that  of  his  dear  old 
father  intends  to  continue  a  strong  personal  interest  in 
the  Village  Hall  and  its  educational  aims.  I  also  picture 
Vivie  going  alone  to  Mrs.  Evanwy's  rose-entwined  cot- 
tage. The  old  lady  is  now  rather  shaky  and  does  not 
walk  far  from  her  little  garden  with  its  box  bower  and 
garden  seat.  I  can  foreshadow  Vivie  dispelling  some  of 
the  mystery  about  David  Williams  and  being  embraced 
by  the  old  Nannie  with  warm  affection  and  the  hearty 
assurances  that  she  had  guessed  the  secret  from  the  very 
first  but  had  been  so  drawn  to  the  false  David  Williams 
and  so  sure  of  his  honest  purposes  that  nothing  would 
have  induced  her  to  undeceive  the  old  Vicar.  I  can  even 
imagine  the  old  lady  ere — years  hence — paralysis  strikes 
her  down— telling  Vivie  so  much  gossip  about  the  Welsh 
Vavasours  that  Vivie  becomes  positively  certain  her 
mother  came  from  that  stock  and  that  she  really  was  first 
cousin  to  the  boy  she  personated  for  the  laudable  purpose 
of  showing  how  well  a  woman  could  practise  at  the  Bar. 

I  like  to  think  also  that  by  the  present  year  of  grace — 
1920^ — the  Rossiters  will  have  become  convinced  that  No. 
I  Park  Crescent,  even  with  the  Zoo  and  the  Royal  Botanic 
Gardens  close  by  and  the  ornamental  garden  of  Regent's 
Park  in  between,  does  not  satisfy  all  their  needs  and  am- 
bitions :  that  they  will  have  resolved  even  before  this  year 
began — to  supplement  it  by  a  home  in  the  country  for 
week-ends,  for  summer  visits,  and  finally  for  rest  in  their 
old  age.  That  for  this  purpose  they  will  acquire  some 
ideal  Grange  or  Priory,  or  ample  farmstead  near  Petworth 


396  .  MRS.  WARREN'S  DAUGHTER 

and  the  Armstrongs'  home,  over  against  the  South  Downs, 
and  near  the  river  Rother;  that  it  shall  be  in  no  mere 
suburb  of  Petvvorth  but  in  a  stately  little  village  with  its 
own  character  and  history  going  back  to  Roman  times  and 
a  church  with  a  Saxon  body  and  a  Norman  chancel. 
And  that  in  the  ideal  churchyard  of  this  enviable  church 
with  ancient  yews  and  i8th  century  tomb-stones,  and  old, 
old  benches  in  the  sunshine  for  the  grandfathers  and 
loafers  of  the  village  to  sit  on  and  smoke  of  a  Sabbath 
morning,  a  place  shall  be  found  for  the  bones  of  Bertie 
Adams ;  reverently  brought  over  from  the  grassy  amphi- 
theatre of  the  Tir  National  to  repose  in  this  churchyard 
of  West  Sussex  which  looks  out  over  one  of  the  finest 
cricket  pitches  in  the  county.  If,  then,  there  is  any  lien 
between  the  mouldering  fragments  of  our  bodies  and  the 
inexplicable  personality  which  has  been  generated  in  the 
living  brain,  the  former  office  boy  of  Fraser  and  Warren 
will  know  that  he  is  always  present  in  the  memory  of 
Vivien  Rossiter,  that  she  has  placed  the  few  physical  frag- 
ments still  representing  him  in  such  a  setting  as  would 
have  delighted  his  honest,  simple  nature  in  his  lifetime. 
He  would  also  know  that  his  children  are  now  hers  and 
her  husband's;  that  his  Nance  very  rightly  married  the 
excellent  butler,  Jenkins,  with  whom  he  had  discussed 
many  a  cricket  score ;  and  that  Love,  after  all,  is  stronger 
than  Death. 


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